


In Which No One's Imagination Obeys Posted Speed Limits

by peterqpan



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Feed Adrien Agreste, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Misunderstandings, talking to each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:17:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterqpan/pseuds/peterqpan
Summary: Me:  So it's comedy episodic, like the show, they're fourteen and ridiculousFriend whose present it is:  Reveals!  Marriage!  Careers!My counter offer:  Reveals both romantic and ridiculous'...when it was all over, she’d looked up expecting Alya at her locker, and he’d stood there flexing, asking about her encounter with a superhero--not Ladybug, no, but Chat.  Despite knowing Marinette was close enough to Ladybug to ask favors.  Despite her claiming their friendship, as an occasional alibi!  But no, he hadn’t asked about her, he’d asked about her partner--how amazing Chat was, how impressive and cool he’d been.Not...how she’d hoped it would go.  Did he wish Chat had held him like a princess, bounding around Paris?!  Every moment he’d had his face pressed to her shoulder, had he wished it was black leather?!  “TIKKI,” she cried, lifting the comforter off her head.  “What if he likes cats better than ladybugs,” she groaned, and Tikki floated up alongside the ladder, genteelly smothering her giggles.  “Tikki, what if he likes boy ladybugs better than even girl cats, what if he marries Chat, who am I even going to attend as?!  Do I go as Marinette of Honour or Best Ladybug?!  TIKKI, WHY?!”'





	1. Marinette's facts lead to an unexpected theory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lifebloom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifebloom/gifts).



> Happy birthday, lifebloom! This will be as silly, I hope, as the show, but also get some real romance in there eventually! Hopefully it makes you laugh and feel feelings!
> 
> By the way, Alya knows that there are circumstances in which any kind of humans can have children, she's not objecting on those grounds--she's bewildered by Marinette's perception of the people and how she appears to be envisioning it.

Screaming now muffled by her cat pillow, Marinette still felt the sinking clench in her stomach amidst a whirl of realization at quiet Adrien Agreste suddenly posing against her locker, biceps flexed like an American football player, his eyes vague and starry.

She _knew_ that look.  

She’d seen that fascinated expression hundreds of times--in the mirror, after watching Adrien Agreste himself dance around his perfume ad--usually just before she spun too rapturously in her desk chair, and nearly killed herself rolling through the trapdoor.

At that thought, she paused in her reverie, momentarily distracted into a grimace as she imagined the chair and her body bouncing down the stairwell, or--even _more_ undignified--wedged partway into the small door, her weight on her broken neck, her eyes crossed and her tongue protruding like an old cartoon.  They’d probably use that photo at her _funeral_ , she thought, clasping her hands over her mouth in horror.  Not a nice school picture, no, of course not--no, there everyone would be at the memorial, and there the picture of Marinette would be too, purple-faced and squished by an office chair into traumatic-brain-injury-by-trapdoor.  Alya’s sisters would have to have their eyes covered. Adrien’s last sight of her would be bugeyed by strangulation, the background of the grisly scene filled with photos of him that had gusted into frame when her weight slammed partway through the door.  She yanked her imagination back on course.

Adrien.  

 _Adrien_ , she thought, clapping her hands, _right_.  

It was after Nathaniel had become Evillustrator, and Marinette had had to pretend Ladybug was busy elsewhere.  Chat had been even more annoying as Marinette--she’d gotten used to him listening carefully when she talked, she realized, and suddenly she’d had to call on the authority of her own alter-ego.  For a fairly harmless akuma, that had taken way too long, and been way too complicated--and then when it was all over, she’d looked up expecting Alya at her locker, and...he’d stood there flexing, asking about her encounter with a superhero--not _Ladybug_ , no, but _Chat._ Despite knowing Marinette was close enough to Ladybug to ask favours.  Despite her claiming their friendship, as an occasional alibi!  But no, he hadn’t asked about _her_ , he’d asked about her partner--how amazing _Chat_ was, how _impressive_ and _cool_ he’d been.  

It was not how she’d hoped it would go.  Did he wish _Chat_ had held him like a princess, bounding around Paris?!  Every moment he’d had his face pressed to her shoulder, had he wished it was black leather?!  “TIKKI,” she cried, lifting the comforter off her head. “What if he likes _cats_ better than _ladybugs_ ,” she groaned, and Tikki floated up alongside the ladder, genteelly smothering her giggles.  “Tikki, what if he likes _boy ladybugs_ better than even _girl cats,_ what if he _marries Chat_ , who am I even going to attend as?!  Do I go as Marinette of Honour or Best Ladybug?!  TIKKI, WHY?!” Having lifted her head, she noticed the pillow she was wailing into was, in fact, a particularly smug looking cat, and punched it.  

Tikki rolled in the air laughing.  “Marinette! I don’t think you need to start planning a wedding yet!  You’re being ridiculous.” Marinette dropped to the lower floor to pace around.

“I can’t even just be friends with him,” she moaned.  “He’ll be trying to confide in me, and I’ll be _so ready_ to be supportive, Tikki, I’ll cry all night the night before so I can say _that’s great, my love_ , I mean, _Adrien_ , you two will look _so hot_ together, I’ll be ready to _use my words_ , I’ll practise, I won’t call him my _loaf_ or my _lubber_ , I won’t suddenly--I won’t talk like a--a _badly translated period pirate drama_ or something _,_ but then Chat will just pounce in out of _nowhere_ , Tikki, you _know_ he will, he’ll just _drop from the ceiling_ between us, shouting a pun, and probably _make out with Adrien_ right there on the couch and I’ll have to try to kick him off so I can listen to Adrien like a _friend_ would do--”

“Breathe,” Tikki advised.

“--I could distract him with a laser pointer, maybe, do you think?  Probably? While Adrien breaks my heart. I could have the tissues in one hand, and the laser pointer in the other, and I’ll just--I’ll just pretend I’m _so happy for them--_ ” she gulped back a sob, throwing herself on her chaise lounge, only to let herself ooze despairingly off onto the floor.  “Maybe I should just smother myself with a couch pillow until Chat wanders off and starts punning at M. Agreste and Mme. Sancoeur.  Maybe I should just smother myself _now_ , Tikki, _my love is in love with that stupid cat, Tikki--_ ” she grabbed the pillow off the chaise and screamed into it.

Tikki’s head was exaggeratedly cocked.  “Ah, Marinette, you don’t...you don’t _know_ Adrien’s feelings!  He’s a fencer, maybe he was impressed by Chat’s martial arts training!”

“He was _flexing at me_ , Tikki!   _Adrien Agreste_ does not act like a circus strongman!  He entirely forgot himself!”

“You could say to yourself ‘It’s so much healthier than dating Chloé,’ maybe,” Tikki offered, and Marinette’s head shot up.  

“Adrien would _never_ date _Chloé!_ ”

Tikki floated upside-down, wondering whether a change in perspective would help.  “She kisses and hugs him, though? All the time?”

“You’re right, I feel so much more supportive of Chat now,” Marinette said venomously.  “He’d elbow right in and carry him off, leaving her screaming, and Adrien would get that...he gets all _pink_ , Tikki…” she rubbed at the wetness on her face, drawing a shaky breath.  “He gets all pink and shy and he...he buries his face in my neck and hugs me, Tikki, I just want to bring him back to some kind of-- _Ladybug Lair_ and--”

“Ma-ri- _nette!_ ” Tikki squealed.  “You can’t _kidnap_ boys you like and--and-- _defile_ them in your _marzipan-scented baking lair_ , you’re a hero of the _city--_ ”

“Oh, I know,” Marinette growled, clenching her fists.  “I know that. That’s why _Adrien_ is at _home_ right now, probably with a stupid cat with no _boundaries_ on his balcony reciting dirty _limericks_ , and I’m here.  At _home_.”

“You have a great deal of homework--” Tikki suggested delicately.

“ _Here I am_ , just trying to figure out how to get Chat _declawed_.”

“ _Marinette_.  You are...figuring out how to communicate honestly, and respect Adrien’s choices as a person,” Tikki corrected primly.

“I could steal his phone and _delete Chat’s number_ ,” Marinette glowered out the window.

“MARINETTE, NO.”  Tikki yanked on her bangs, squeaking indignantly.  “Kidnapping, no matter how cute the boy, is a very close thing to supervillainy, and _no more stealing of phones_.”

Marinette took a deep breath to yell at the sky, the concept of patience, and cats as a species, and then held her hands up, exhaling through her nose.  “I’m sorry. I know you mean well. _Of course_ I’m not going to kidnap him.  None of this is _his_ fault.  I might trip Chat the next time we’re over the river--”

“Marinette!”

“A _pond_ , then.  I hope he’s eaten by ducks.”

Obviously, sympathy for her Grecian tragedy of a life was not to be found at home, with her parents who thought Adrien Agreste could be won by a sincere confession of feelings by some nondescript pigtailed classmate, or her kwami, who _severely_ underestimated her One True Love’s willingness to be bullied into bizarre situations.  She needed a best friend.

 

“Alyaaaa,” Marinette whined deep in her throat, tripping over the twins that came to meet her at the door, and throwing her arms around her friend’s knees amidst a round of yelps.  “Alya, my life has been ruined by _Chat Noir_.”  

“Oh, do tell,” Alya made grabby hands, dragging her through the house by one arm, which put some strain on Marinette’s abs and thighs, since giggling children were clinging to either leg.  “I’ll get the melon. And iced tea.”

“What’d Chat do?” the girls asked in duplicate, climbing Marinette like a set of parallel bars as Alya eyed them, rolled her eyes, and ran to the kitchen.  

“Wandered around being a huge stupid dork who couldn’t find his way out of a box,” Marinette grumbled, flexing her magic-enhanced muscles to keep from being drug to the floor and trampled to death by giggling munchkins.  It seemed like too fitting a way for the day to end.

“Chat Noir got stuck in a box?” they chimed together, wide-eyed, and she couldn’t resist.  

“He meowed so sadly,” she shook her head.  “But how could he be safe fighting for the city, when all the villains have to do is leave a large box nearby?  I heard Ladybug sent him home with homework--he has to have assorted boxes in his room and build up a resistance.”

“Oh, no!” the little girls chorused, undistracted from climbing.

Alya returned just as Marinette slowly began accepting gravity’s great force, and unhitched her sisters in turn, prodding them out the door as they cried “Tell us more about Chat, Marinette!”  The latch clicked closed.

“Adrien is in love with Chat Noir,” Marinette started, only to be interrupted by Alya spitting her tea, and two small bodies tumbling back in the room.  

“Adrien _Agreste_?!” they shouted, as Alya tried to wipe the tea off her shirt.  “Adrien Agreste is _gay?_ ”  

“Oh my god, girls, do not _shout_ that--” Alya scrambled over to pull them back inside, but they were oddly still.

“Brigitte’s big sister kissed a girl and her parents were really mean,” Ella’s lips trembled.

Etta nodded.  “They’re fighting.  Brigitte keeps crying.”

“Well.  If M. Agreste is unkind to Adrien, Ladybug will discuss it calmly with him while he _dangles out a third-story window_ by one _foot_ ,” Marinette said crisply, and Alya snorted.  

“If he’s alive after we’re done with him, you mean,” she raised an eyebrow at Marinette, then sighed, pursing her lips at her little sisters, who shuffled their feet worriedly.  “We don’t know, you little monsters, so don’t go telling _anyone_ , okay?”  

“We won’t tell anyone,” they said nearly in unison, nodding.  “We don’t want people to yell at him.”

“Somebody _else_ today thought he was dating _Chloé Bourgeois,_ so who knows,” Marinette managed, bitterly.  

“No way,” Alya made a face, and her sisters loudly imitated it, and in the resulting confusion of tickles she shoved them both outside and locked the door.  Tiptoeing back, she whispered “Let’s get _tactical,_ okay, under the covers.  They won’t be able to hear through the door as well.   _Tell me everything._ ”  

Marinette sighed, grimacing as she pulled the blankets over their heads.  “I should have asked you over to my house--”

“Yes you should,” Alya sighed.  “You didn’t even bring pastries.”

“--I can’t believe I just _outed_ him.  He’s in love with Chat, Alya, what am I going to _do_?  Do you know how many baby showers a litter of _kittens_ will need?  He’s _never_  asked me about Ladybug, Alya, he _knows_ I know her, he was all dreamy-faced over _Chat,_ what am I going to _do--_ ”

“Wait, wait, tell me from the beginning,” Alya’s voice was slightly muffled--Marinette could just barely make out the shape of her cheek, chewing melon in the darkness.  “You do know a gay man and a cat can’t make kittens, though, and I mean, Chat probably is not actually a cat--”

“Adrien was _flexing around my locker_ , grilling me about everything Chat said and did and talking about how fantastic he was,” Marinette moaned.  

Alya sputtered, choking, then picking pieces of honeydew out of her cleavage and popping them back in her mouth.  “What you got against my melon and tea, girl?! He’s probably just a fan! You’ve seen how he turns into a puddle when Ladybug hauls him around!”

“He’s just _sweet_ , he puts up with _Chloé_ hauling him around!  He gave that horrible stalker fan his email address!  But he’s never asked me about Ladybug, Alya, _never_ , and then he meets Chat _once_ and he’s striking poses and talking about wonderful and handsome and cool he is--”

“He was calling him handsome?”

“And you know what Chat’s like, he flirts with _architecture_ , Alya, he’ll break Adrien’s heart--”

“Wow.”

“And what do I do if they _marry_ , Alya?  What if they have _kids_?  Alya, if I give a _bunch of kittens_ catnip toys, _am I a drug dealer,_ ” she clasped the first bit of Alya she grabbed, which resulted in an earnest clench of Alya’s ear and glasses.  

“Marinette,” Alya’s tone had sobered.  “Tell me everything about this, but _right away,_ I need you to confess, immediately, whether you’re passing Biology.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alya's line "Chat probably is not actually a cat--” made me giggle, I mean...probably? Marinette is exaggerating an in-joke, but Alya? What's her excuse?! XD 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos make my soul well with warmth and delight!


	2. Darn it, Marinette!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette's theory continues to spin out of control, attacking innocent bystanders! Don't worry, she loves her cat and all will be well.

That night, Chat Noir was subdued--after she growled every time he opened his mouth.  Once they’d covered the usual route, he stepped into her path, clearing his throat. “Ah, Milady,” he tried, and she put her fists on her hips, raising her eyebrows.  “Is there, um…”

She rolled her eyes.  “I guess you can’t help being a--a _floozy_ ,” she sidestepped him, and he scrambled after her.  

“A--a _floozy_ , Milady?” he sounded half appalled, half delighted.  

“You would flirt with an ice cream cone, and you know it, Chat,” she said crisply, bounding to the next building, and ignoring his indignant noises behind.

“Only if it had your cold shoulder, Milady,” he tried, and she groaned loudly, abruptly stopping, when she realized she was about to lead him home.

“If I have committed offenses towards your heart, my own--” he tried, ignoring her gagging, before pausing.  “Are you...angry I flirted with Marinette?” his tone abruptly turned gleeful. “Are you _jealous_ , Milady?!”

“No!”  She flailed her arms.  “I am absolutely not jealous of Marinette!”  

“Did she _mention_ my heroic rescue?  Did she _swoon?_ ” he flipped theatrically and dropped in front of her, grin wide.  

“EUGH.  No, Kitty, a _thousand times_ no!  She thinks you’re an idiot,” she grinned back.

“After I rescued her from mortal peril?  My princess would never!”

“She said you’re confused by boxes, like any cat off the street.”

He gasped.  “That is--that is unkind!  We were under attack!”

“Or maybe you were distracted showing off?”

“You _are_ jealous!” he bounced on his toes, grinning wildly.

“No, _chaton_ ,” she rolled her eyes.  “Seriously. I am in love with _someone else_.  Marinette is in love with _someone else_.  And that person has a crush on _you_ , which is just,” her throat had tightened, and she cleared it.  “That sucks, it’s not your fault, but it just. It’s kinda terrible, y’know?”

He took a deep breath, backing away.  “I--I--I’m just. I’ll go talk to Marinette.  I didn’t--I’m going. I’ll go, I…” he turned abruptly, pole-vaulting towards the bakery, and ignoring the shouts after him.  

“She’ll be _asleep_ , you dumb cat!  Come back! I’M SORRY,” Marinette yelled, before turning her fury incoherently on the sky and racing to beat him to the finish.  She actually had time to collect a plate of day-olds and a thermos of hot chocolate, change into her new soft pajamas, brush her hair, and consider watching Adrien’s fragrance ad again before she heard a soft thump and a knock.  She rolled her eyes, opening her mouth to shout “Come in, Kitty!” when Tikki popped up with wide eyes, and she instead climbed up to say “...hello?” in a low voice.

“Princess,” came Chat’s voice, sounding weirdly husky.

“What?  Oh, just come in,” she pulled the door open, yanking him inside.  

He sat right on the stairs, taking a deep breath.  “Ladybug,” he rubbed his face tiredly. “Um, Ladybug said I’m--I was bothering you, I’m sorry.  I don’t--I don’t know what I did, but--”

“Chat, you’re crying,” Marinette said flatly, taking his hand--it was hard to remember, sometimes, that he wouldn't recognize Marinette as someone with the right to affectionately manhandle him.  “Why are you crying?”

“I just wanted to apologize,” he started again, but his breaths started getting faster, and she bundled him down the stairs onto the chaise lounge she’d been mistreating earlier in her tears over Adrien. 

“Chat,” she stuffed a kleenex box in his hands, and he blew his nose in a torrent of his usual sexy charm.  

“Eugh.” She stood warily, gaze flickering between his shaking shoulders, to her fluffiest blanket, to the trapdoor.  She perched at the end of the chaise, and he quickly swung his legs down.

“I’m bothering you again,” he repeated thickly.  “I didn’t mean to do this here. I’ll go. I’m sorry.  I’ll fix it, I promise, I’ll--”

“Chat,” she grabbed his shoulder, yanking him back down.  “What can I do. Do you want hot chocolate? Are you cold?  I’m not sending you out there with snot running down your face, you’ll fall off a roof.”

“I--I’m sorry--” he tried to talk as his lungs heaved.

 _“Chaton_ ,” she said over him, sternly, pulling him against her to rub his back.   _Whatever_ , she thought,  _so I'm practically a stranger_ ,  _if he argues with me I'll just avalanche him in cookies._   “You are my _friend_ and you can cry here, it’s not even that late, but I wouldn’t care _anyway_.  Stay here.  You’re _not bothering me_.”

He snickered wetly.  “You sound really mad, though, Princess.”

“Blow your nose.”

He did.  She pulled him against her side, feeling the tense energy of Chat against her neck instead of Adrien’s delighted surrender, and she stroked his back, hair, and eventually his ears until his breathing evened out.  

“Sorry,” he said again, and she let out a small “Rawr!” of annoyance at the ceiling--the ceiling, and this stupid helpless cat.

“Tell me what on _earth_ is going on!  I need snacks,” she grumbled.  “I was going to have a cookie party all to _myself_ ,” she quirked her mouth at Tikki, out of view behind him, who snatched and nibbled at a cookie the size of herself.  Tikki held a thumb up, wide-eyed at Chat’s swollen, red eyes and wet mask. He laughed as Marinette dropped the plate on his lap, and poured hot chocolate into the lid of the thermos.  “We’re gonna have to share, so don’t give me your cat germs.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he narrowed his eyes at the plate, glancing at her as his claws approached the strawberry custard tart.  

She couldn’t resist.  “Not that one!”

He dropped it, jerking his paws back to the chaise.

“...you can have any of them you want, Chat.  What has you so _jumpy?”_

“...Ladybug said...she said I bothered you,” he took a deep breath as her stomach lurched.  “That you’re in love, and--” his eyes started to well again, and Marinette frantically grabbed the custard tart and shoved it at his mouth.  He smiled at her, sprouting some manners unexpectedly that prompted him to hold his paw up to cover his mouth. He swallowed. “Thank you. I mean, I knew she didn’t…I didn’t really think she’d love _me_ , but I…” she handed him the cup of chocolate, robotically.  He took a polite sip. “I didn’t know she was in love with someone else.  And I thought…” he took another shaky breath, and Marinette stared fixedly at the wall in front of her, fighting the urge to just keep stuffing his face until he stopped talking and was somehow _repaired._  Healed by baked goods.  Bizarre akuma powers had never sounded more appealing.  “She sounded like I was...kind of just annoying,” he laughed, watching her face for any reaction as he slowly leaned to bury his face against her shoulder.  “S’good chocolate.”

She stared at Tikki, who shrugged with an obvious cringe, then set her jaw and sat the plate and chocolate aside to yank Chat close, like she would Alya.  He yelped softly, but relaxed into her, giggling softly as she rumpled his hair and ears.

“You’re a good cat,” she said finally, and he snickered.  “No, I’m serious, Chat, you do so many good things. Ladybug--” she tightened her arms as he tensed-- “Ladybug knows that.  She trusts you to have her back. You’re her _best friend_ , Chat.”  Her shoulder started feeling suspiciously wet again, and she grimaced frantically at Tikki, who rolled her hands in the universal “Go on,” gesture.  “You--she didn’t know you _meant_ the flirting, Kitty.  God, I’m so sorry, it--she--she would never have _wanted_ to hurt you.”

He growled into her shoulder.  “I know she wouldn’t. I hadn’t even told her, she couldn’t know.”

“She’d want me to hug you tighter, too, best friend of my bestie Ladybug,” she said, suiting actions to words, and he grunted with the pressure, going boneless with a melodramatic whine.  

“Crush me with affection, my Princess,” he muttered, and she _tried,_ squeezing him until he yelped for mercy.  

Once nobody was crying _or_ getting crushed, she sighed, letting her back rest against the wall.  “...feeling any better?” His ears were sticking in her hair, so she flattened them, mussing his curls.

“...so much better,” he laughed, and she watched his ears and neck turn red.  “Half-asleep on my Princess, in her bed?!”

“It’s a loveseat thingy,” she rolled her eyes.

“Loooooveseat,” he snickered harder.  “Tell me about who _you’re_ in love with.”

“What?”

“Ladybug, uh, she said you’re in love with someone.”  He pulled away abruptly, frowning at her. “She said your crush has a crush on _me_ , actually.”

“Oh,” she felt her cheeks heat.  

“You know all about my hopeless case,” he fidgeted with his tail.  “I’m not going to be dating anyone. Maybe you should ask them out?”

“Yeah, I’m obviously to their taste, then,” she grabbed the cookie plate again, eyeballing the selection before crunching down a brandy snap.  “Maybe I should wear more leather.”

He snorted.  “If that’s the appeal, they wouldn’t like me either.”  

She frowned at him, holding out the cookie plate.  “...it’s hard to imagine you without it.”

“I…” he bit his lip, glancing at her.  “It’s not like you could identify me from general clothing descriptions,” he laughed nervously, watching her face.  “Oh no, white slacks, it’s Chat Noir!”

“...noooo,” she trailed off, and he grinned.

“I wear all Agreste designs.  My parents like them. I look nothing like this.”

“Nothing alike,” she agreed, feeling a little strangled.  “You’re...a fan, then?”

“I like his _adult_ lines,” he cocked his head.  “I’m not...I wish the line...his son models had more colour.  My mother--likes bright colours.”

For a long moment, she chewed her cookie wide-eyed, picturing Chat in one of Nino’s Hawaiian shirts, complete with bermuda shorts and domino mask.  In her mind, it had surfing monkeys, and enormous neon hibiscus. “I’m imagining M. Agreste designing really non-traditional Hawaiian shirts, now,” she said, subdued.  “You know, the ones Americans make to be loud, with their flag on one side and electric guitars on the other. It’s...it’s terrible.”

He choked on his chocolate, eyes bulging as he held his mouth closed until he could swallow.  “I suggested _no such thing,_ Princess,” he gasped.  

“What if he _wore them_ ,” she continued in haunted tones, and he shuddered.  “Big, like, multi-coloured surfing butterflies. Drinking Corona.”

“Oh no,” he snickered, leaning his face in his hands.   _“I_ can see it now!  What have you _done.”_  He finished the little cup of hot chocolate, and she poured him more, grinning.

“Maybe his next teen line will have pineapples and palm trees,” she patted his shoulder consolingly, and he guffawed, tipping sideways to laugh into her pillow.  

“Can you imagine,” he giggled, rolling onto his back to beam up at her, “that 'Adrien the fragrance' ad, with Adrien in a _palm tree_ shirt, it’d inflate and billow--”

She snorted.  “Adrien, smelling of sun, sweat, and cheap American beer.  The fragrance!”

He was giggling so hard he started to wheeze, which was gratifying, as she didn’t think it was _that_ funny, but she patted his shoulder and sat one of each cookie aside for him.  

 

Once they’d finished the cookies, he seemed strangely reluctant to go.  “I have school tomorrow,” she said patiently, and his ears lowered.

“Thank you for the cookies.  They were really, really good.  Cookies.”

She felt her eyebrows raise.  “Chat. Bestie of my bestie. Do you want to come back again for more cookies?”

“I really do,” he whispered dramatically, wide-eyed.  

She watched his ears and cheeks flush, and couldn’t fight a smile.  “We could play Mecha Strike III.”

“I am a superhero,” he said proudly, striking his mightiest pose--which was, apparently, something involving a javelin.  “I shall win, my Princess.”

“You think that.  Ha! I will _whup_ you, _knight_.  Catknight?”  She pushed him at the stairs.   _“Good_ night.”

He cackled, resisting just to annoy her as she shoved him up the stairs, trying not to accidentally grope his skimpily-clad leather butt.


	3. Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are good. Happy end of the year, everyone!

The next morning in class, her lovely Adrien’s face had the unvarying tones of layered concealer, and Nino had an arm around him, so Marinette watched closely as they spoke in low voices.  At their desks, Nino leaned his chair back to thud against Alya’s desk. “My dudes. Adrien got his hea--”

“I’m just tired,” Adrien put in, smiling, and Nino’s eyes narrowed.

“--he needs some pizza, or a party, or _something_ , we gotta take him somewhere for lunch, he's, ah--" Adrien raised his eyebrows, and Nino laughed nervously.  "...sad.”  He grinned at Alya, who looked ready for liftoff.  

“We _got this_ ,” she grinned, steepling her fingers, and they all leaned away warily.  

“I’m completely frisbee,” Marinette said brightly, before clapping her hand to her forehead.  

“Frisbee might be fun,” Alya grinned at her.

Class began, though Adrien spent a lot of it tuning out, his shoulders slowly hunching, until Nino would elbow him, or throw an arm around his shoulders and shake him gently.

“What’s going on,” Alya plonked herself between them on their desk, the moment the bell rang.

“It’s fine,” Adrien shrugged, and Marinette gathered herself.  

“Did, um, d-did someone _thing_ happen tiring?”

He looked at her for a long moment as Alya and Nino snickered, then shrugged.  “It’s nothing. A long week, and last night...and a photoshoot I…”

“Ugh, he works you too hard,” Nino squeezed his shoulders.

“No!  No, it’s not that, I’m--it’s my job, but this photographer…”

“What about him?” Alya prodded.

“It’s not anything too--”

“Dude.”

Adrien sighed.  “It’s for Paris magazine, and they always want to make me look more adult, and it doesn’t--it always seems fine during the shoot, but I look at the photos later and it’s really uncomfortable--”

“ _Dude_ ,” Nino hugged him, setting his jaw as he, Alya, and Marinette nodded in unison.  

Marinette dismissed guilty memories of hugging the last Paris spread of Adrien Agreste, further losing the power of speech over photos of him sprawled over a bed, half-shadowed by one point of light.  “...everything, um, the pants, shirt stomach unbuttoned.” She felt her cheeks heat at the memory of smooth skin, and shook her head.

Adrien blinked as Nino and Alya snorted.  “...my clothes weren’t actually coming off, so I said okay, but it looked kind of…”

“Meet me after plan,” Marinette narrowed her eyes as the bell rang again.  “ _Yes_.”

At the next bell, she held a hand up to grab Adrien’s arm, paused, pincered her hand to grab the edge of his shirt, and emitted a high-pitched noise.

“I got this, girl,” Alya grabbed he and Nino.  “Where we going?”

Marinette strode to the library, and Alya waited for Chloe to turn away before yanking the boys into following.  Marinette was prepared, sort of, with a sketchpad held over her face.

“Is that a fashion sketch of Adrien?” Alya asked, as the three of them pulled up chairs to the table.

“He’s so _sparkly_ ,” Nino clapped.

“And naked,” Adrien said crisply, eyeing the blank body shape, and Marinette squeaked.

“Draw lines where you want to stay covered!” her voice came muffled from behind the drawing pad.  She dropped it, shoved at it as it slid between the table and the chair, and finally threw it at his face.  Luckily all three of them had had time to put a protective arm out.

“Show us where the bad photographer took pictures of you?” Alya raised an eyebrow, and Marinette nodded, rummaging in her bag.  

Adrien sighed, but clicked his pen, and began drawing t-shirt lines.  

Marinette’s head slowly reappeared over the edge of the table, staring intensely through huge black sunglasses.  “Yesssss,” she whispered, before slowly lowering again. Nino edged away from her, raising an eyebrow at Alya, who shrugged.  “What’s everyone’s favorite color,” the creepy whisper continued.

“Oh, red,” Alya caught the red Sharpie as it spun at her, and slowly grinned.  

“Oh, _yes_ , definitely, whatever is fine,” Nino accepted blue, and Marinette stood abruptly, holding her magenta marker in the air like a magic sword.  

“I--I call u-upper arms,” she said stiffly, eyes closed behind the sunglasses.

“Legs,” Nino’s grin widened.  “I should probably take legs, my dude.”

“Oh no,” Adrien’s cheeks were turning the colour of Marinette’s marker.

“Stomach,” Alya beamed.  “You got an undershirt? Let’s see it!”

“Oh _no_ ,” Adrien started giggling.  “No, this isn’t a _plan_ , you can’t--”

“These will not wash off,” Marinette recited stiffly.  

“Yeah, actually, this is good, they can’t forget you’re a kid when they see my horrible stick figures,” Alya waggled her eyebrows.  “They can airbrush them out, but--”

“I can go and yell ‘ _I see marker_ ’ every time they try something shady,” Nino twirled his pen thoughtfully.  “I think you need some dragons.”

“No, no, no,” Adrien pulled his shirt off to bury his face in it.  “This is ridiculous.”

“Hey,” Nino walked around to bat his head lightly.  “We’ll stop if you want.”

“Go ahead, s’fine,” the blush crept clear down his neck to his forearms, Marinette noticed, hypnotized.

“I can’t reach your stomach from here,” Alya snickered, watching Adrien try to bury his entire head in the shirt.  

“Help,” he laughed into it.  “Nino, that _tickles_ \--”

Nino shrugged, crouching next to a rolled-up pant leg.  “I mean unless you wanna hit the boys’ room and take your pants off while I squeeze in the stall--”

“No!” Adrien yelped.

“It’s for the dragons, man.” Nino stuck his tongue out the side of his mouth.  “All for the good of the dragons.  Imma need some more colours for my flames here, Marinette.”

She shook herself out of a daze.  “Yes! Here they all are!” She slapped a handful of pens down, hand shaking faintly as it approached Adrien’s shoulder.  He twitched away, cackling at the touch.

“These markers _tickle_ , Marinette!”

She made a noise that might have been a sneeze or a choke, and he started to look up, concerned, only to have her press her hand against his neck and scalp.  “Uh, um--sorry, just--hold still, I mean, you’ll--you’ll get a dragon in your ear,” she whispered, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“A what,” Adrien blinked, going still automatically.

“No fair, dude, _I’m_ doing dragons!” Nino scribbled a gout of flame, and Adrien smacked the table, yelling muffledly into the wadded shirt.  Once he’d controlled his reflexes, he leaned to look under the table.

“Keep doing that and I’ll _mean_ to kick you.”

“Mine will be a Chinese dragon,” Marinette cocked her head thoughtfully.  “They can be friends.”

“Lean back against the table,” Alya stepped over.  “I can hardly draw moustaches on your abs if you’re curled up like a pillbug.  We shoulda hauled you back to Marinette’s, spread you out on the chaise.”

Adrien laughed along with Nino, until he noticed a lack of marker at the back of his neck.  

“Alya this is is _bad enough_ ,” Marinette hissed at her, and Nino patted Adrien’s knee reassuringly.

“Hey,” Nino whispered, outlining all the current dragon’s five appendages, so it looked like it was pinwheeling through the air, or possibly squashed against Adrien’s leg, “She’s having fun, it’s fine.”

Adrien remained tense against the careful hands pushing his tank top around, making confident swoops with the marker against his back and shoulders, and tried not to giggle at Alya’s grimaces, or squirm as she doodled all over his stomach and Nino’s dragons, and Nino drew dragons climbing up to her moustaches.  By the time Marinette cleared her throat, the two of them had covered most of his midsection and upper legs with bug-eyed, moustachioed dragon doodles, and he was trying to hold still as Nino drew on the top of his left foot, and Alya hauled off his other shoe.

“There,” Marinette halted mid-motion in the way she had, like a squirrel, then smacked her sunglasses back down off her head, and made a noise like Adrien had when his voice changed.  “The, the dragon, it’s not.” She waggled a hand towards his back. “In your rear. Ear! _Alya!”_  

Alya grabbed Adrien’s shoulder, pushing him towards the table to see the dragon writhing around his shoulderblades and upper arms.  “Oh that is _rad_ , Adrien, you look like a _gangster_.”

“He does not,” Marinette squeaked.

“Nah, it’s awesome, dude, I’d give him my lunch money,” Nino waggled his eyebrows at Adrien, who was trying to twist and see his back.  

“My photoshoot’s in a hour--I need a mirror,” he slid the undershirt straps off his shoulders, trying to eyeball himself in the library security mirror.  

“We can frisbee some other time,” Alya assured Nino, who was flexing thoughtfully.  

“Marinette, I might need a dragon,” he rolled his shoulders.  “I might need to be one of those sun’s out, gun’s out kinda guys--”

“Ha!” Alya punched his shoulder.  “A dragon? I’m seeing more, like, a row of music notes--can you spell geek in music?  Oh, there’s no ‘k’--”

“Did I make him look like a _gangster?”_ Marinette whimpered through her fingers.

“This is really neat,” Adrien grinned over, still flushed, and she tried to rush her brain through the inevitable reboot.  

In the meantime, all she could do was try to be Ladybug.  She felt her shoulders lower confidently, though she kept her eyes on his left ear so as not to melt into a puddle.  “You know Ladybug would terrify that photographer for you. Or rescue you, whichever.”

He laughed.  “You’d call up Ladybug for me?”

“I-I mean of course, you’re--you’re my best friend’s boyfriend’s friend,” she smiled with, she felt, admirable calmness, and Adrien’s smile dropped.  “But that’s not what I meant,” she took a deep breath instead of fumbling. _Ladybug_ , she thought, _I am Ladybug, and one of my superpowers is composure around this ridiculously beautiful boy_.  “She knows you.  She’s met you how many times now?  You’ve even helped her against akuma!  She’d help you if you asked her.”

If she had thought he was blushing before, it was nothing to the result of that speech.  The deep magenta dragon across his back vanished into his skin. He rocked excitedly heel-to-toe, and she rolled her eyes, conditioned by Ladybug’s reactions to Chat.

“I almost want something to happen, then,” he whispered guiltily, and Alya smacked his arm.  

“Roll your pants back down, boy, you look like you’re gonna build a sand castle.”

He did so, grinning down at his shoes.  “Ladybug _likes_ me.”

“Well, she might not now you’re so _smug_ ,” Marinette shot back, on autopilot now.  “Besides, I thought you preferred _Chat Noir_.”  He blinked at her, wide-eyed, as the door to the library slammed open to tones of “ADRI-CHOU!  Where _is_ he?!” and Nino and Alya rushed them out the back.  

“You may not have to worry about the photoshoot if you stay that colour,” Nino bumped his shoulder as they walked.  “Your dragon’s invisible now.”

“If you’re mean to me I’ll tell Ladybug,” Adrien beamed back at him, and Marinette groaned.  “Be nice to me,” he stage-whispered back at her. “I know _Ladybug_.”

“If you keeping threatening people with her, she’s gonna have to come _punish_ you,” Alya pointed at him with both hands, and he covered his face with hands as red as the rest of him.  


	4. Stained Glass Marinette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to get some things done this chapter, but it should be back to more cracky silliness next!

Marinette homed in on the bakery after the obligatory afternoon akuma, trying to ignore the spectre of Adrien’s photoshoot.  His face hovered in her mind’s eye, though, and she spun back towards it, re-transformed, and tiptoed along rooftops until she arrived.  Unfortunately, instead of the organized chaos of a bunch of artistic professionals, she heard shrieks.

When she edged her way onto the set, twirling her yoyo, Adrien yelped.  “Ladybug!”

She smiled, reminding herself to be professional.  “I heard screaming.”

“Oh!  Of course.”  He glanced around.  “We got robbed, actually.  They took all the brand name goods I was supposed to be draped under.”

“Well that’s...terrible,” Ladybug blinked, standing upright, and letting her yoyo dangle.

“Yeah,” he smiled over.  “At least...I got to see you.”

Her knees nearly buckled.  “Yes! Yes, we saw each other!  It must be a good day.” _Deep breath_ , she thought, and took one.  

“I should probably...help out.  Let you get back to work,” he stepped toward her, then stopped.  

“Oh,” she nodded, realized she was leaning toward him, and stepped back, clearing her throat.  “Of course.” She saluted him, immediately felt like a doofus, and then felt her innards turn to warm gooey chocolate when he saluted her back with a cheesy little flourish.  “...good night, then,” she said pointlessly, unable to turn toward the door.

“Good night, Ladybug,” he fidgeted with his shirt, unbuttoning the collar, reddening, and rebuttoning it, but grinned shyly.  

She nodded again, forcing herself to take a few steps backward towards the door.  She waved a hand behind her, hoping she didn’t miss the door and smack into the wall.  “Good, uh, luck. With the shoot. And the thieves.”

“You too!  L-let me get the door for you!  Good luck with, uh, your...superhero...things, you must be pretty _tired_ , wow, but uh, thank you for saving Paris...again.”  He trotted up, and they both reached for the doorknob at once.

She giggled nervously, hand on the doorknob, but unable to open it without pushing him back.  “That’s my job!”

He reached for the door without taking his gaze off her face, touched her hand, and yanked his back.  “Because you’re a hero,” he nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “We just--we’re all _grateful_ , still.”

“I have to save the city my friends are in, don’t I?” she felt her cheeks heating further.  She wondered whether his blush felt as warm as hers.

“Oh.  Yes, I mean, obviously--” he nodded, lowering his eyes.

“Friends like Adrien Agreste?” she tried, leaning sideways to catch his eye, but his head snapped up, cheeks flooding red like they had earlier in the library.  

“Y-yes, of course,” he beamed at her.  “Always. Forever. _Yes_.”

She clenched her fists at her sides, obsessed with the thought of laying her hand along the side of his face to feel the warmth.  Her lungs started to ache, and she realized they’d been smiling at each other so long she’d run out of air. “I’m going,” she garbled.  “Now.” She pivoted awkwardly, shoving at the door, and he slid his arm in to pull it back and open, bringing his face close enough to brush her shoulder.

“Sorry!”  He stepped back into the door with a thud, then sideways out of the way, unbuttoning his collar, widening his eyes, and rebuttoning it hurriedly.  

Realizing he was trying to avoid showing “Ladybug” the marker drawings made her snort, and he laughed, ducking his head.  “Thank you, Adrien Agreste,” she tried, gently, imagining if she’d walked into a door in front of someone _she_ respected, say, Adrien’s father, and then he’d _snorted_ at her.

“Thank _you_ ,” he repeated breathlessly, and she opened her mouth, closed it, nodded, and left before they spent the rest of their lives saying the same line with slightly different intonation.  Behind her, she heard a few loud thumps.

 

______

 

After drifting to sleep with a mind full of Adrien, Marinette shuddered awake, shouting incoherently.

“Marinette!”  Tikki flew in close, patting her cheek.  “Marinette! What was that?”

Marinette gulped, gripping the blankets with white knuckles.  “I need to--I need to go patrol, Tikki. We--I’ve been slacking off, I’ve been thinking about Adrien too much--”

“No you haven’t, Marinette!”  Tikki wrung her little hand-paddles.  “You’re a wonderful Miraculous holder, when you aren’t stealing phones!”

Marinette wiped her eyes.  “I--I need to at least--I need to--breathe, Tikki, outside.  Do you mind?”

“Not at all, Marinette,” Tikki blinked wide eyes.  “You’re going to be so tired, though--” she yelped, trailing off with the transformation. 

Marinette dropped to the top of the Eiffel Tower, leaning her face against her knees.  Paris was quiet, Hawkmoth hidden--probably sleeping the sleep of the conscience-less. She sighed, then leapt up, nearly clocking Chat Noir in the forehead with her yoyo.  “...Kitty? What--” she frowned around again, listening for an akuma.

“I saw you yoyo-ing around, Milady,” he beamed at her.  

She swallowed down the urge to ask whether he slept, or whether he just lolled on his back whenever she wasn’t around, in a field of daisies, chanting ‘She loves me, she loves me not.’  “Why weren’t you asleep?”

She must have sounded congested still, because his smile dropped as he leaned in, squinting at her face in the weird upward glare of the tower lights.  “Milady. Are you--what’s wrong?”

“It’s fine, Chat.  I’m fine.” She sighed, dropping to sit again.  

He crouched next to her.  “Anything I can help with, Milady Bug?”

“I just--” she sighed, letting her head tip against his shoulder, and he squeaked.  “I had this _stupid_ dream.”

“I have those,” he very slowly situated himself next to her, trying not to jostle her head off his shoulder, and she grinned into the black leather.  

“What are yours about?” she sighed, sitting up.

“This is about yours, Buginette,” he cocked his head, and she slumped against him again.

“Euuuuugh.  I wasn’t Ladybug.”

“That _is_ nightmarish,” he agreed, and she elbowed him.

“I was a...thief.  A--all in black, you know, Mission Impossible music, but I only stole from dragon hoards--”

He snorted, coughing.  “What?!”

“I had this palace,” she sighed.  “I probably stole it. Huge archways, lots of paintings.  Every single window was stained glass _me_ , in heroic poses.  I was a _famous dragon thief_ , there were wanted posters, I’d sneak back in to my piles of gold with a big bag of stolen treasure--”

Chat Noir was cackling into her hair.  “This is an _amazing_ dream, were you dressed like me?   _Cat burglar Ladybug--_ ”

She leaned away, eyeballing him.  “...a bit? I had a dagger and hood.”

“Please describe in extreme detail,” he breathed, clasping his hands together.

“...the dagger had a hilt shaped like a dragon.  I used to brag to it about all the dragons I’d robbed.  They were powerless to stop me. I’d do little gloating shadow plays, sitting on my piles of money.”

“I wish I’d recorded this whole conversation.”  He huffed as she noogied him.

“Bad cat.  Anyway, I was taking inventory of magic potions one day--”

“As you do,” he nodded, beaming.

She took a deep breath.  “--and--and I heard screaming.  Outside. The--the latest dragon, she’d--she’d followed me back.  She was burning the whole city,” she swallowed.

“What, no,” he lowered the hands he’d been flailing exuberantly, and she nodded, pressing her fist against the bridge of her nose.

“I went outside and people were jumping out of buildings, but they--they were already on fire.  She didn’t even--call out to me, or--she just killed everyone--” her voice had gone croaky, but she forced it out.  “My neighbour looked around his burning house--he was a father, there was a crib--and he just looked me in the eye and walked into the flames--”

“No no no,” he squeezed her shoulders, eyes as wet as hers.  “No, Buginette--”

“Even if I--I fix it every time, Chat--but they still _see_ everything.” she pulled her knees up to hide her face, breathing shakily.  “They see their friends get _frozen_ , or _disintegrated_ , all the children of Paris saw their parents _taken_ and then they _fell_ , they’ve been drowned and melted and--”

“Bugaboo, no,” he tugged her hand off where it was clenched on her knee, and squeezed it.  “That’s on Hawkmoth, you didn’t--you didn’t _rob Hawkmoth_ , you’re doing _all you can_ \--”

“How haven’t we caught him, Chaton,” she sobbed.  “Everyone in Paris is going to need _so much therapy_ \--”

“I can--I can help you look more often,” he offered, rubbing the back of his head as his tail twitched around behind them.  “Maybe if we’re more watchful--”

She sniffled.  “I don’t think that’ll work, Kitty.”

“I-I can patrol, I’ll be more help--”

“Oh no,” she yanked him closer, snickering wetly as her nose jangled his bell.  “I’m--I’m sorry. You’re...a wonderful partner. Unless _you_ robbed Hawkmoth,” she pushed him away, frowning accusingly with wet, red eyes.  

“No,” he said, fairly certain.

“ _And_ he’s secretly a dragon.  A European one. Definitely not a Chinese one!  Eugh, that stupid _dragon_ dream.”

“Have you had it before?” he asked, morbidly curious.  

“Not...exactly,” she rubbed her face.  “I...thank you. I was just going to stand up here and watch Paris being, y’know, not on fire, but--” she smiled up.  “--you really helped. Watching my cat flail around, it makes me feel loads better.”

“Bugaboo,” he gasped.  “I feel _betrayed._ ”

“I see your tail waggling around like you think my emotions might attack you from behind,” she grinned, wiping her eyes.

“Y’know, you can always call me,” he pointed out.  “Not--not like,” he put on a breathy voice, “‘Oh, Chat, meet me at the top of the Eiffel Tower,’ but if you have a...completely ridiculously bizarre, amazing yet terrible dream,” he got up, pacing in a tiny circle.  “If you don’t want to be up here, y’know, alone, or, anywhere, I mean--”

She watched him, biting her lips.  “...you can too. Not for champagne and roses, obviously, but if you’re...upset.”

He laughed.  “That’s not your job, Milady.  I’m here to help _you_.”

She leaned her head on her hand.  “We’re partners, though.”

He dropped next to her with a snort.  “My dreams are nowhere as weird as yours, they’re--” he looked away.  “Besides, you’d figure out who I am.”

She blinked.  “...you could just say it was a bad dream.”

He shrugged, and she leaned to bump his shoulder with hers.

“Or call a different friend.”  At his snort, she nudged him harder.  “Chat. You have other friends. Tell Marinette.”

“She doesn’t want to hear about...that,” he steadied himself with his off hand as she bumped his shoulder again.

“She has _cookies_ , Chat.  Maybe cookies would help.”

“Cookies are good,” he smiled at his claws.  “She barely likes me more than _Adrien_ , though, I don’t want to...push things.”

“What,” she went still.

“This boy in--wait, you’ve met him, Adrien Agreste,” he clarified.  “On the perfume ads?”

“Oh, that Adrien,” she said woodenly.  “What do you mean, though?”

“She’s best friends with the Ladyblogger,” he raised his eyebrows meaningfully.  “If Marinette decides I’m stupid too, it’ll be all over Paris.”

“Stupid,” she repeated.

“She--I was--helping Adrien look up some of her jokes,” he sighed.  “I thought maybe they were--memes? I hadn’t seen? I mean I’m on the internet, but maybe...inside jokes?  Everyone else in class laughs,” he let himself fall back to look at the sky.

“At Adrien,” she said so softly he nearly didn’t hear it.

“It’s gotta be something really stupid,” he frowned.  “Marinette’s nice to everyone _else_.  She gets really angry at Chloe all the time.  I don’t think she’s trying to be mean.”

“Maybe she’s just incredibly awkward,” Ladybug offered, leaning her face in her hands.

“Marinette is very confident and brave,” he said stoutly, and Ladybug groaned, falling back to lie next to him.  “It’s just something I--can’t figure out that Adrien’s doing wrong. But I don’t want to make the same mistake--”

“Chaaaat,” she moaned.  “I’m just going to step off this building and _murder_ Marinette Dupain-Chang--”

“No!” he yelped a laugh.  “She’s a friend! Don’t kill her!”

“She deserves to die,” her eyes narrowed.  “Nobody makes Adrien Agreste feel stupid on my watch.”

Weirdly, Chat’s face flooded red.  His mouth fell open. “Y-you don’t need--”

“What do you think would make him feel better, Kitty?”  She swallowed down her jealousy. “Since you’re friends.  Confidantes.”

“Ha-he--he’d like to know what’s going on,” he whispered, wide-eyed.  

“Eugh,” she covered her face.

“He’s fine, really,” he rolled onto his stomach to watch her, tail curling in a question mark.

“ _Yes_ he is,” she snorted, and he blinked wide green eyes at her.  She sighed, watching him, and reached over to muss his hair.

“You look like Christmas, Chaton, green eyes and bright red face.”  Seeing his face go smug, she yanked her hand back.

“I’m a present for _you_ , Milady.”  She groaned, shoving him, and he cackled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entertainingly, Chat Noir _has,_ unknowingly, robbed Hawkmoth! Ha. The dialogue just kinda fell that way.
> 
> That stupid dragon dream was mine! What the hell, brain?! My dreams are always scarring, yet hilarious.


	5. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess I have to write an akuma eventually...and Marinette really needs to talk to Adrien, and clear up this misunderstanding!

For someone recently robbed, Adrien seemed remarkably chipper the next morning, bouncing on his toes as he greeted Nino.  His smile only flickered faintly as he glanced at Marinette, and her stomach clenched as she waved. She was just beginning to relax during their morning break, watching everyone mill around the classroom through the regular motion of Nino flipping his pen in the air, when Tikki nudged her leg.  Marinette opened the bag to see her urgently patting at her glowing forehead. Marinette dodged into the bathroom stall with hardly any bruising from slamming the door on her leg, and hopped up on the toilet seat to transform without anyone seeing her feet.

“Chat?” she whispered at the little screen.

“Milady Bug!” he beamed at her.

“Shuuush,” she whispered.  “I’m still at school! What’s going on?”

“Oh, I just have an _in_ if you’d like to investigate that robbery further,” he waggled his eyebrows.  “There’s a pattern to how they work, and now we know what events they’ll hit, we can predict what they’d be interested in.”

“That’s great, Kitty,” she grinned back at him, imagining smacking her heel into the side of the head of whoever’d stolen from, and very possibly inconvenienced--or even _frightened_ \--Adrien Agreste.  

“Did you just pump your fist?” he snorted fondly.  “Anyway, the Agrestes are putting on a Gala in two weeks, and it’s invite-only, but I _think,_ ” he paused for effect, “I can get us tickets!”

 _An Agreste Gala_ echoed around Marinette’s brain, drowning him almost entirely out.  “A Gala,” she repeated.

“--yes, it’s annual, the Agreste Gala--”

“A...gala, a gala for the Agrestes,” she stared at the wall, contemplating the tile.

“...yes?  My contact says--”

“That’s all right,” she glanced at the wall clock, and resisted a very un-Ladybug-like whine.  “I have to go! Don’t worry about the tickets, though, I don’t think I’ll need you on this one, Chaton!”

“Wha--” his yelp cut off as she detransformed, sprinting back to class.  

When she arrived, Adrien’s shoulders had returned to an exhausted slump, but she snuck en pointe to crouch in front of his desk.  “Adrien,” she whispered, forgetting what would happen when he looked at her. Sure enough, her vision narrowed into a funnel of sparkles, time slowed _for her alone_ , the teacher showed up, and Alya had to grab her around the waist and drop her into her seat as her brain slowly re-engaged.

“You’re such a weirdo,” Alya whispered, grinning.  

Marinette scrubbed at her face with her hands.  “Whemfunknoodlempf,” she mumbled, then let determination narrow her eyes.  Alya just snorted, but Adrien ducked his head, hunching his shoulders, and Marinette abruptly remembered Chat’s frustration the night before.  “Oh no, I’m losing, I’m losing at him, Alya, I’m losering him _so hard!_ ”

“You can just copy my notes later,” Alya muttered distractedly.

For the next hour, Marinette worked on rough drafts of a note to Adrien, resisting the urge to crumple each rejected draft and fling them about the room.  When she got to the point of groaning, smushing her face into the latest blank sheet, and folding her arms over her head, Tikki phased up through the desk.  

“What are you _doing,_ Marinette?!  You’re missing class!”

“I have to write a note to Adrien to explain I don’t hate him!” she whispered back, and Alya elbowed her side, laughing loudly.

“Oh that’s _true,_ Marinette, that _does_ really clarify that proof!  You’re so _attentive_ in _science class._ ”  

“Do it _later!_ ” Tikki whispered in her other ear.

“No!  I have to--”

“Marinette Dupain-Chang,” Ms. Mendeleiev smacked the edge of their table and Marinette squawked, knocking Alya’s glasses askew with a flailing elbow.  “I am certain that if Biology can’t hold your interest, Mr. Damocles could find something more hands-on for you to--”

“Sorry sorry sorry!” Marinette yelped.  “I’m here! I’m here, I’m sorry!” As soon as their teacher turned away, she crumpled up the most recent draft without re-reading it and flung it, only to have Nino catch it after it bounced off Adrien’s head, and flatten it out against the desk.

“CLASS IS OVER make sense at you,” he read out loud.

She couldn’t quite hear Adrien’s soft reply, but it might have been “That seems unlikely,” and she found herself shrinking into her hoodie with a long groan.

At the end of class, Adrien turned to face her, arms folded.  “You...wanted to talk to me?”

Alya gasped, shoving her half across the desk.  “Yes! You two go! We have to--we have to sit right here, at our desks!”

“Desk thieves,” Marinette nodded, bewildered, stumbling toward the door, and Alya snickered.

Adrien frowned between them, but stalked into the hall and into the next classroom, empty during the last period.  “What. I mean, did you have something to say?”

“I-I-I--” she stared at his gleaming hair, unable to form words.  “You. You just--you make--”

He waited, looking out the window.

“I’m nervous,” she finally squeaked out, in a voice as high as Tikki’s.  “I am not--not--not that you--it’s--I am _nervous_ because I know about you and, um, and, uh, Chat--”

His head jerked to stare at her as his knees bent, the thud resounding in the classroom as his elbow hit the edge of the desk he angled himself towards.

“You and Chat Noir,” she paced in a little circle.  “It is _definitely not that I adore you_ and after watching your fragrance ad my monitor drips with my tongue juices,” she whispered through her fingers, pausing to stare back.  “I just hate lying, about anything, I’m very bad at _lying_ , it makes me _so very nervous--_ that is, yes, why I would be nervous, why _else_ would I be nervous, not lusting after _any_ of your--”

“How--you knew--Ladybug is going to _kill_ me,” he took a shaky breath, rubbing his elbow.

Marinette blinked at him.  “I mean. She better not? She _lov_ \-- _li--_ she’s your _friend_ , I mean--”

He shook his head, jaw set.  “What if you get akumatized? You don’t understand the--”

“That is a risk,” she nodded, clenching her teeth as she realized she was falling into her Ladybug voice.  “But I’ll do my best to help you protect your secret--”

“She’ll be _furious--”_

“I mean, it’s not really her business, is it?” Marinette made a face.  “It’s not like akumas aren’t getting fought. She probably doesn’t want _details_.”

“I don’t like keeping secrets from her, but... _nobody_ can know,” Adrien bit his lip, glancing around.  “Please, Marinette. Please don’t..." he waggled his eyebrows.  "-- _tail_ anyone.”

She suppressed a groan at Chat’s obvious influence, sitting on the desk he’d fallen into.  “I would never,” she reached over gingerly and patted his shoulder, and he leaned his head against her hand.  After several blinks, she delicately ran her fingers through his hair the way she would Chat, and he sighed, letting his eyes close.  She glared at the ceiling for its injustice in allowing this temptation, then ran her thumb up his ear, fascinated. “If...since you can’t...tell anyone, if you ever need someone to…” she swallowed, then cleared her throat.  “--someone to--cover for your--cat--shenanigans--”

He blinked at her again, before going pink.  “...really? You’d help with that? I don’t want to... _puss_ my boundaries--make you uncom _fur_ table--”

“Ugh!”  She resisted the urge to shove him, eyes stinging.  “Yeeesss?” she felt rasp up her throat. “If you need to say you were with a friend, I can say you were with me.  I just don’t want to find you--” she swallowed down the image of he and Chat Noir cuddled up on her chaise, making googly eyes and using puns as foreplay, and shuddered.  “--just don’t scratch up my chaise, or anything.”

He took her hand, squeezing her fingers gently.  _So that’s what his hands feel like,_ she thought hazily.  _Manicured, but calloused, and so warm._  He was relaxed for the first time all day despite his red-rimmed eyes, grinning up at her sideways, draped across the desk like a ridiculously sexy garland.  “You really are our Everyday Ladybug. You’ll--you’ll think this is hilari _mouse_ , I thought you wanted to yell at me for something.  You’ve been acting so...weird, and everyone kept laughing _\--_ ” he let his head drop against her side, closing his eyes.

She choked momentarily, with all his hair and eyelashes and pink cheeks and everything at close range.  “N-no! Obviously! That is definitely so hilarious that you misread my lus--my actions! Also extremely unfortunate!”

“It’s so nice to be completely _honest_ with someone,” he laughed, beaming at her, and she nodded along, hypnotized by the late afternoon sunshine warming his smile.  "Wait, does--why was Alya laughing?  Did I somehow--"

"She doesn't... _really_ know," she felt herself cringe.  "I mean.  I think she thinks I'm...asking to...date...you..?"  Her face must actually be on fire, she thought distantly, it was the only way to explain the sudden brightness of his eyes and smile, she was probably glowing like a horseshoe just out of a blacksmith's forge. 

"That's perfect, though," he breathed.  "You aren't going to ask the person who likes black leather out--"

"What," Marinette croaked.

"I'm obviously not dating anyone--we can date each _other_ , Marinette, it's the perfect cover!"

The sudden crash and screaming outside was actually a relief, though for a long second she thought it was her own voice, that everyone could hear the panic in her head.  Adrien shot to his feet, pressing his face to the glass to see into the hallway, and Marinette shook her head hard enough to begin feeling reality again, resisting the urge to wail at his eagerness to see her partner.  She took a slow breath, blinking until her vision cleared of tears, and dodged around him as he grabbed for the door handle. “Guh--good talk, see you tomorrow, uh, Adrenaline, Adrien, I’m going to try and--and get home--” she called, glancing around for witnesses, and eyeballing the small square of ground shaded by the stairs.  Behind her, she could hear Adrien yelling something, but she’d already begun trotting down the stairs in a low crouch. With everyone running around, the base of the stairs shielded her just enough to transform, and she rolled out to land with her feet braced and arms ready.

Her school was filling with skeletons.  One tottered forward to touch Max, who stumbled back over a bench, only to receive a light poke on the knee and begin melting away, his flesh dripping down under the bench to leave a gleaming wet skeleton.  From above, Kim’s voice yelled “ _Max!”_ , and Marinette bared her teeth.  _That’s another twenty or so nightmares,_ she thought.  _Sorry, Kim--_

“Tibia perfectly honest--” Chat’s voice warmed her ear, and her head jerked up.

_“Kitty--”_

“--this isn’t humerus at all,” he sighed, running to the side to smack another skeleton away from menacing Rose.  His staff smashed it into the stairs, and Rose yelled a fervent thanks, dragging Juleka up the stairs. “And all this after you refused to _joint_ me at the dance, Buginette!  It’s _hyoid_ time we caught those thieves--” He ducked as the yoyo swung over his head, lassoing a few to lock in an empty classroom.  

“Chat!  Focus!”

He bounded over, grabbing the other end of the bench she was dragging to block the door.  “You’re jaw-droppingly fibula-ous _again_ today--”

 _“Chat,”_ she groaned, and he whipped his tail around happily.  “This isn’t biology class, we don’t need a vocabulary lesson, just--”

“You’re such a natural-bone leader,” he snickered, dodging her kick at his butt as more shrieks called them outside to a crowd of skeletons running toward the Eiffel Tower.  “Akuma are _such_ one-trick bonies,” Chat leaned in to meet her eyes, staring as though she could have missed the joke.

“I _got_ it, Chaton, we’re _busy_ \--” she yelped, yanking him by the back of his suit and leaping onto the roof of a stopped bus as skeletons stampeded by.  “...they aren’t chasing us,” she frowned around.

“Are they giving up?  Not very much... _backbone.”_  He smoothed his tail.

“No.”

“Not made of sternum stuff as my Lady.”

“I want to kick you off this bus--” she let her mouth quirk, raising an eyebrow at him, “--but I’m trying to keep to the straight and _marrow_.”  

“Oh, my love, milady Bug--” he beamed at her just as a skull and proportionate skeleton hove into view next to the Eiffel Tower, the surrounding buildings barely reaching its ribcage.  It grew as they stared, every bone widening and stretching with a sound like trees creaking in the wind.

“I have a gut _feline_ we should head towards the Tower,” he blinked at her with wide, innocent eyes, and she felt an upswell of joy in her soul as she kicked him off the bus.  Forcing herself to focus past the image of a fervent Adrien Agreste holding her hand and pleading for a date and then looking for Chat Noir, she swung away toward the tower with her yoyo around a chimney.  Chat bounded by on his staff moments later, and she grinned distractedly, jumping between buildings as she gauged whether she’d build enough speed to run along the approaching wall.  

“She’s absorbing them,” Chat Noir dropped next to her as she landed.  “She’ll be as tall as the Tower in a minute.”

“Good thing she’s built like a ladder,” Marinette eyed up the enormous ribcage.  “I can’t see if she’s holding anything--”

Just as they came to a halt looking down at the paving surrounding the Tower, the enormous skeleton fell to its knees with a wail.  

“Meow what?” Chat’s ears were back against the noise as the skeleton sank with its skull in its hands, sobbing with a voice that resonated in their innards like they were riding in a juddery train.

“Eugh.”  Marinette considered, hands clamped over her ears ineffectually.  “There’s no one around to ask what happened--I guess it’s time for a _Lucky Charm!”_   

Chat Noir squinted, smiling, through the burst of pink, as a plastic package landed in her arms.  

“It’s...a Hawkmoth costume,” she looked over, nose wrinkled.  “Want to distract her for me?”

He leaned away.  “No? You’ve gotta be kitten me, my--”

She threw it at him, twirling the yoyo around a balcony and slowly lowering herself down to the ground to tiptoe behind the skeleton as she heard him grumble about the loudly crinkling packaging.

“Oh, my!” she heard Chat Noir yell, and smiled to herself.  _I’ll let him whine later._  “Gosh!  What _is_ that _bright thing_ in the sky?!  I had to come out and investigate, because I am a _moth!”_  He yelped as the skeleton surged forward, smacking the ground with a shockwave that turned on car alarms throughout the square.  

Marinette tried to run around and get a look, but heard him cheerfully shouting again.  

“I can’t fly, but what a _nice tall tower_ to climb and throw myself at the sun, because that is what _moths_ do!  That sounds even _better_ than banging my face at a lightbulb all morning!  How have I not thought of this before?!  Have I _wasted my life_ with my head in the armpits of people’s _favorite jackets_ , chewing away?”  

Marinette snorted, shaking her head as she thought of the sweater she’d dug out the previous fall only to find a hole chewed right in the middle of her chest.  “Curse you, Hawkmoth, I _liked_ that sweater,” she muttered to herself, edging around the enormous pelvis. She got her yoyo wrapped around a collarbone just as the skeleton tottered to its feet, stumbling towards the Tower, and began clambering up.  The climb was even jerkier with the skeleton batting at Chat, but it didn’t seem to have noticed her. She slid down its right upper arm like it was a fireman’s pole to see its left hand was in a fist, and part of the jerkiness was it not using that hand to climb.  She slung a leg over its elbow, pausing to let her stomach settle as the skeleton clambered unevenly up the side of the Tower. A flash of orange drew her eye up to Chat, who was really in more of a floppy Monarch Butterfly costume than anything, with a weird huge mask made of orange wings.  She returned a wave from him--he yelled something that she _hoped_ was not “Oh, my fur and whiskers,” immediately afterwards--and then she swallowed against her roiling stomach and yoyo’d to the other arm while Chat yelled “These are restaurants!  Perhaps I should go lay _eggs_ in everything!  That’s another thing moths do!  Get my butt right in those cereal boxes and-- _whoa_ there--”

Marinette nearly lost her grip as it _let go of the Tower_ to flail at Chat.  She dangled with one arm looped over the skeleton’s ulna, but as it took another step up the tower she used its inertia to flip herself on top of the bones and began scooting down towards its left hand.  It screamed again, waving the arm she clung to, and she hung, feet swinging, from the middle of an enormous forearm hundreds of meters over Paris for a long moment before it swung back in and leaned its fist against the Tower to bat its right hand at Chat.  When she got to its fist, she could mostly crawl in, smacking her arm around against its phalanges until her fingers brushed paper, and she yanked on it, freeing the butterfly as it ripped, and feeling herself thrown straight up as the skeleton flung her away.  Without Chat’s costume to throw in the air, she focused on wrapping the yoyo around a strut and hauling herself to safety, only to find Chat hopping on one foot trying to extricate himself from the bright orange outfit.  He tossed it to her, and she flung it out over Paris, and took a breath of relief.  

The skeleton dwindled as they fistbumped, twirling away to leave a sobbing, extremely pregnant woman curled at the foot of the Tower.  Another woman with the same deep brown skin ran up to her, hugging her close, and Marinette dropped next to them to hear “Your paperwork is fine--you won’t have to leave--I just needed another form--you are safe here, you won’t be deported, I promise.”  The akuma victim cried harder.

“Is there...anything else we can do to help?” she asked, trying not to get distracted planning an entire fashion line that celebrated the way their skin reflected light.  

“No,” the woman clutching paperwork shook her head.  “We’ll be fine, now.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to the gala--” Chat touched her shoulder, and she stumbled to a stop, her yoyo thudding to the ground.

“I’ve got it handled, Kitty,” she grimaced at his blinking ring.  “Come on, we have to go!”

He nodded, backing away with a sigh. 

Alya and Nino were peering out of their classroom when she landed on the school, so she dropped outside, changing back inside a bush, and ran back inside just in time for Adrien Agreste to run up alongside her, panting.  Alya sauntered down the stairs, clearly surveying their proximity, and his extremely pink cheeks, and turn a heated smirk on Marinette. 

"Alya!" she squeaked.

"Good news, Mari?"  Alya stepped between them, sliding an arm around both their shoulders.  "I notice you're both out of breath."

Adrien laughed, rubbing his neck, and reddening further.

 _"Alya!"_ Marinette squeaked again, feeling despair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure am glad we got that misunderstanding cleared up, whew! =D
> 
> In the next chapter, Alya will ask the Ladyblog for interview questions for Chat Noir. Any ideas? 
> 
> Concrit is great and fine, btb! Also I'm _still sorry_ about the formatting, Google Drive really likes putting spaces around italics and a bunch of other weird things, I will try to catch 'em all!


	6. they spend a lot of time hiding in bathrooms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marinette tries to adjust to the bizarre mess her life has become, fake-date Adrien without rubbing her face all over his belly, and finally the interview

That afternoon, in French class, Marinette had to learn to breathe through being _passed notes by Adrien_.  The first said _‘We should go on a date’,_ and she was pretty sure she began to descend into cardiac arrest, when he reached back and shoved a second note against her notebook.  It said _‘You could invite Ladybug’,_ and she stopped breathing entirely, her eyebrows drawing together.  Adrien was still scribbling at his notebook, and _‘Have you told her yet’,_ followed _‘Do you have her number’,_ and then _‘DO NOT TELL HER YET need 2 talk’._  

Finally, Alya grabbed his wrist.  “You’re going to get her in trouble again,” she hissed, mouth quirking as her gaze darted between Adrien’s wide eyes and Marinette’s deep red complexion and fixed stare.  Adrien sighed, letting his chair drop back to all four legs on the floor, and Marinette twitched, her fingers spasmodically crushing the pile of notes. “He can talk to you on your _date,”_ Alya whispered in her ear before focusing on the lecture, leaving Marinette feeling as battered as the armless marble women at the Louvre.  By the end of class, she was dizzy with lack of oxygen.

Adrien leapt from his seat to beam at her, and she squeaked, her mouth opening in slow motion.  

Alya leapt to her rescue, familiar with her friend transforming without notice into all manner of things, like broken theme park animatronics.  “Of course she’ll go out this afternoon!” she smacked Marinette between the shoulderblades, possibly hoping to reboot her.

“How about a double date?”  Nino leaned in, grinning, and Marinette felt her shoulders relax at the idea of backup.  

“I was hoping for just Marinette,” Adrien bounced on his toes, ducking his head, his cheeks pink, and Marinette emitted a high-pitched wail.

Alya clapped a hand over her mouth, whispering.  “Get it together, girl!  Pretend he’s--” she screwed up her face in thought.  “Pretend he’s my _dad_.”

Marinette flinched back, sticking her tongue past her teeth.  “Gross, Alya!”

“In a snorkel mask and innertube,” Nino added, in her other ear, proving he was perfectly suited to Alya, and making Marinette flail her hands around her face in an effort to unsee the conjured imagery.

“Marinette likes older men?” Adrien wrinkled his nose consideringly, and Marinette wailed, letting herself tip forward so her head thudded against the desk.

“Polka-dot Speedo and fins,” Nino suggested in gleeful tones, and Alya snorted so hard it sounded painful, dissolving into snickers.  

“I will do what I must to win the passion of my princess,” Adrien declared, clasping his hand to his heart, and Alya groaned.  “My father will design the sexiest of snorkel masks!”

“Oh no,” Nino gasped, nearly falling sideways with laughter and bracing one arm on Alya’s shoulder.  “Dude. Make me one.”

Marinette turned her head to see Adrien’s grinning face bare inches away.  “He’ll make me an innertube of that most seductive of animals--”

“The giraffe!” Nino cheered, and Alya had to sit down, sliding an arm around Marinette and cackling into her shoulder.

“The giraffe!” Adrien confirmed, and Marinette leaned back in her chair to give her lungs room, laughing too hard to draw air.  

“Mr. Agreste,” Nino put on fruity tones, tears running down his cheeks, “Please design me the _sexiest_ of giraffes, for I must do my mating dance in the public pool.”

“If she’s into older men,” Alya wheezed, “Better glue on a fake beard!”

Adrien struck a sexy pose, miming stroking his long chin whiskers, then grinned proudly as Nino collapsed over the desk, gasping for breath.

“I don’t--” Marinette choked with laughter.  “I don’t want to bang _Merlin.”_

Nino raised his hand.  “Tropical flavour Santa Claus.”

“Why is Santa Claus _flavoured?!”_ Alya wheezed, “How are you keeping a straight face,” she wiped her eyes, and Adrien waggled his eyebrows at her.  

“I am a-zinking of ze spaghetti,” he said in a wildly-overdone Italian accent, which made no sense, but the three of them lost it again until Ms. Mendeliev poked her head back in the classroom to frown at them.  While Alya and Nino recovered, he bent to whisper to Marinette, who froze at the heat of his breath at her ear. “We should talk.”

She gulped, reluctant to listen to paroxysms of adoring appreciation for Chat Noir while Adrien smiled in that peculiarly confident way.  Her hand drifted toward his, and she yanked it back and sat on it, staring over at Alya and attempting to activate her latent telepathy.

Alya waved a hand, weakly.  “Why don’t we get crepes and finally play frisbee?  Plenty of time for you two to hang back and conspire, and every time Marinette loses the power of speech I’ll have a projectile.”

“I brought frisbees,” Nino held up his bag, beaming.

“Bean me if I grab him,” Marinette tilted to whisper out the side of her mouth.

“I’m telling Natalie it’s a group project,” Adrien smiled up from his phone, glancing between them, then frowning slightly as he registered Marinette’s strange 45 degree angle from the floor.

“Perfect!” Alya gave him the thumbs-up, but her entire body was still shaking with laughter, and Marinette slid further toward her, the strange (and unsubtle) sideways-whisper muffling her speech.  

“It’s not funny, Alya!  What if I black out and then I wake up and I’ve kidnapped him and tied him to my ladder?”

Alya bent forward to wheeze into her hands, and Nino threw an arm around Adrien’s shoulders, pulling him toward the door.  “They do that, it’s normal,” he waved his hand.

“Ah,” Adrien waved, wide-eyed, to Marinette, as Nino drug him away.

Marinette waved back, smile fixed.  “Now my dreams will haunted by Adrien Agreste’s sexy bearded giraffe pose,” she said, through gritted teeth, and Alya burst into fresh gales of laughter.

“Oh no,” she panted.  “We should catch up to them, but--you’re _dating?_  You look _mad_ about it, girl, he’s gonna think you changed your mind!”

“The temptation is _too much,”_ Marinette clutched at her friend’s hands.  “Alya. If I look like I might put a flower in my teeth and swing him into my arms…” she raised her eyebrows meaningfully, but Alya shook her head.

“No, you better finish that sentence, I have no _idea_ where that’s going.”

 _“Stop me.”_  

“I am not getting between the two of you,” Alya grinned back at her, pulling her into a side-hug.  “You might bite. You think Nino would be into getting swung up and a rose in my teeth..? I might have to request some music tonight…” she spun away, humming, and Marinette’s mouth fell open.  

“Alya!  This is _important.”_

“Not really,” Alya waved her away.  “You’ve been wanting to date that boy all year.  You’re dating him!” She made jazz hands, then posed leaning in the doorway, smiling at Marinette through lowered lashes.  “The rest of us have our _own_ nerds to seduce.”

“...just throw a frisbee at my head if he looks _distressed,_ you know, if he yells ‘Help!  Help! I’m being ravished by a rope-swinging pirate!’” Marinette sighed, stepping over Alya’s artfully outstretched leg blocking the doorway, and Alya leaned in and kissed her cheek.  

“Agreed!”

 

When they caught up to Nino, Adrien was nowhere to be seen, and Marinette’s pocket was buzzing.  “He had to water his weasel,” Nino announced, pointing to the public bathroom, and Alya squawked.  

“He had to _what.”_

“His, uh, his ferret needed…”

She grabbed him around the waist, laughing.  “Fondling?” His cheeks flushed darker as she leaned up to kiss the end of his nose.

“I...am _also_ going to have to pee with a ferret,” Marinette sped toward the little building, and away from their whispered giggling.

 _“What,_ Chat?” she whispered, having found what looked like the cleanest stall, under a creepy flickering light.

“Have you talked to Marinette today?” she heard a toilet flush over his breathless voice, and raised an eyebrow.  

“Nooooo?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing?  Nothing.”

“You’re calling me from a toilet because nothing’s wrong?” she sighed.

“No!  I’m--I just needed somewhere out of sight!  I, um, nothing. How are _you,_ Milady, on this lovely Parisian day?  Even in this humble locale I can hear the tinkling of birds, unless maybe it’s urine!”

“Did you _need_ something?” she tried.

“Y’know what, you and I, we spend a _lot of time_ hiding in bathrooms.  When we finally reveal ourselves, I say we name the documentary “Ladybug and Chat Noir:  Coming Out Of The Toilet.”

“Chat,” she groaned.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to go to the Gala?” he asked, and she hung up on him.

Tikki floated up when she detransformed, hovering in front of her nose with wide eyes.

“Tikki,” she moaned, dropping her head on her knees.  “I’m _fake-dating_ Adrien Agreste.  And this bathroom is straight out of a horror movie.”

“This _is_ getting very weird, Marinette,” Tikki nodded, nuzzling her cheek, and accepting a cookie.  “Why doesn’t he want Ladybug to know he’s dating Chat Noir, do you think?”

“Maybe he’s so used to nobody knowing, anyone’s scary,” Marinette sighed, as the light overhead blinked ominously.  “And Ladybug is kind of a hero.”

“Ladybug is _definitely_ a hero, Marinette,” Tikki flew in to pat her cheek where Alya had kissed it, and Marinette squiggled her toes, feeling warm.  

“I have to let him know it’s okay somehow,” Marinette clenched her fists.  “Even if I’d rather kiss him _myself--”_

“Marinette, you’re growling,” Tikki reminded her.  "Like a bear."

 _“Even then,”_ Marinette took a deep breath.  “I’d rather he knew he’s…”

“...he’s what?”

“Wonderful.  If he needs to be with that dingus of a cat to be happy,” she stepped off the toilet, fists clenched in her transformation pose, “Then he needs to be with that dingus of a cat!  Come on Tikki, we’ve got a beautiful boy’s smile to protect!”

“With you always, Marinette!” Tikki giggled.

 

Through the wall, Adrien sighed at the disconnected phone and detransformed.  He could hear someone shouting on the women’s side, but Plagg flew in to stare into his eyes curiously.  “Are you gonna say anything to Ladybug?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien groaned, stepping to lean against the wall before frowning at his signature Agreste outfit and staying where he was.  “I don’t want her to think I’m _fickle.”_

“You don’t want her to think you’re obsessive, either.  She said no! She’s not _cheese,_ Adrien, she’s not _one of a kind,_ like a Camembert--”  He paddled the air expectantly, and Adrien dug out a slice of cheese.  

“She’s _cheesier_ than cheese,” Adrien stoutly defended his lady’s honour, then frowned, biting his lips.  “Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Who’s cheesy now?” Plagg beamed at him, before inhaling the nearly-visible cheese funk with a hedonistic sigh.

“What if she breaks up with...whoever?  I don’t want her to think I’m _taken.”_

Plagg took a bite, sighing and floating in a little circle with a soft grin and cheese squishing between his teeth.  He swallowed. “Maybe she won’t care?”

Adrien winced.  “If she asks, I can just tell her it’s fake, to cover...”

“To cover what, since you don’t want to tell her Marinette saw right through your mask?”

“Uh.  To get me out of the house and out of jobs sometimes?”

“Yeah, your dad seems like he’d bend the security precautions for dates,” Plagg snorted, licking cheese off a paw.

“Well, if I tell her it’s fake, I have to tell her _why_ , and she can’t know Marinette figured out I’m Chat Noir!”

“So tell her you’re dating.”

“She’ll think I’m unavailable!”

“Moh!  Fmmmng!  Hi mknow!”  Plagg held up a paw, chewing, then swallowed.  “Tell her your father is setting you up with Chloe.”

“Eugh, what?  That’s awful. And I thiiiink Marinette would strangle her.”

“My plans are cunning from many angles,” Plagg nodded, licking the Camembert remains off his paws.

 

When he returned, squinting in the sun, Alya and Marinette were holding their books in the air as Nino fixed a blanket and dug out a collapsible water bottle and a frisbee.  

Marinette looked up, saw him, and her knees slowly collapsed to drop her onto the corner of the blanket without ever breaking eye contact.  

“This is nice,” Adrien settled next to her, accepting his bookbag.  “You had all this in your bag, Nino?”

“He’s always ready to go akuma blogging with me,” Alya winked.  “Or on a date. Sometimes we just lie in the sun and listen to the same pair of headphones.”

“That sounds so nice,” Marinette said at the same time as Adrien said “I want that,” in fervent tones.

“Well,” Alya raised her eyebrows.  “Sounds like you’re on the same page, there.”

Adrien flushed, and before Marinette knew what she was doing, she had an arm around him, pulling him close.  He laughed, rubbing the back of his head, and she could feel the heat of his blush against her shoulder.

“Want to play _frisbee,_ Marinette?” Alya’s voice cut through the haze as Marinette was hypnotized by the stretch of skin between Adrien’s ear and collar, only a couple of inches from her lips.

“Oh!” she jerked away from him, accidentally jerking Adrien onto his back, one leg kicking in the air.  “Oh, Alya,” she whispered. “I think I almost _bit his neck._  Like a vampire.”

“Let’s play frisbee, Nosferatu,” Alya ran to the side, waving at Nino, who was watching Adrien prop himself upright, frowning around in confusion.

 

That night, less exhausted from the akuma than the intrigue, Marinette offered baked goods in exchange for company, and Alya readily agreed.  As Marinette lay sideways across her chaise, reliving the moment she’d tried to throw the frisbee while her raised foot was somehow _in_ it, and it had bounced back off a branch to nearly break her nose, and Adrien had fallen into Nino laughing, a knock came at the trapdoor above.  She clung to the image of Adrien laughing for a few seconds--it almost balanced out the anguish of her bruised nose, tailbone, and dignity.

“That was a knock,” Alya frowned up, distracted from her re-enactment of Marinette telling Adrien Agreste that _any_ bench would be delighted to support his posterior-posterity-posters.  “Can your...neighbours get up there..?” Alya resolutely grabbed her heaviest textbook and crept up the ladder.

Marinette groaned, kicking her feet, before sighing at a second knock, oozing off the chaise like pie filling, and climbing up to frown at the black paws visible under the lifted panel.  

“Chat Noir?”  Alya squawked up, uncertain what she had expected, but certainly not a superhero.

He crouched to peer in at her.  “Ah, is it too late for cookies?”

“No!  Come in right now!” she yelled, clambering up against Marinette’s side, nearly shoving her off the ladder, and shoving her face up through Marinette’s armpit to wave at him.  Chat Noir blinked at her, slowly grinning.

“If it isn’t my favourite member of the press, just _purring_ to tell my tail.”  

“I am, I really am,” Alya felt her smile widen to expose all her teeth, in the way that had her dad either explaining taxonomy or scooping up her sisters to let their big sister focus on homework.  “Tell me everything. Why are you here? How often are there ‘cookies', and why am I not invited _every single time,_ girl?  Does Adrien know about this?”

Chat Noir allowed himself to be drawn inside, tail flicking with curiosity.

Marinette snorted, but cocked her head, as though nothing out of the ordinary was happening.  “I’ll set up Mecha Strike. Alya, you don’t get to interrogate him the _whole time_ \-- pick some questions.”

Alya leapt down to tear through her bag, thinking up a thousand and one questions at once--and a thousand _more,_ for her clumsy friend who went to pieces around Adrien Agreste, yet apparently entertained gentleman callers at all hours of the day and night.

“Am I interrupting?” she heard Chat whisper to Marinette.  “I am purrrfectly alright entertaining myself elsewhere, purr-incess.”

“Alright, every time you pun, she gets an answer, those are my terms.”  She trotted down the ladder. “Oh, wait, stay up there for a second--”

The predictable knock after Alya’s nine-foot thump to the floor came, and Marinette yanked the _other_ trapdoor up to smile at her mother.  “Sorry! Alya jumped off my bed! Everyone’s okay!”  Her mom narrowed her eyes at Alya’s mad flinging of textbooks, but then grinned.  “Working up to some more dinner?”

“Oh!” Marinette caught movement as Chat flailed hopefully, and snorted back a laugh.  “Yes, please. And maybe some cookies?” His poses went victorious. Her mom cocked her head inquiringly, echoing Marinette’s broadening grin, but ducked away.

Chat leapt down without touching a stair, arms up like a huge dork who’d just stuck an Olympic gymnastic landing, and Marinette shook her head.

“Be ready to dive somewhere when she comes back,” she cautioned.  “I don’t know how she’d react to a male stranger that knocks on her daughter’s bedroom door at night, but--”

Chat sank slowly under the computer desk, and Alya snorted.  “I think she can actually see you better there. Remember she’s popping out of the floor.”

“It’s suddenly weird to go hide on Marinette’s bed,” he rubbed the back of his neck in a rather unChatlike manner.

“Just don’t claw anything,” Marinette rolled her eyes.  “Go on, Kitty, git.”

“He followed me home, Mom,” Alya watched him slink back up the ladder, ears lowered.  “I promise I’ll change his litterbox.”

“He can change his own, he’s got paws,” Marinette huffed, and Chat snickered audibly from the loft.  

“Guys.  Really?”

“I’m posting that we’re going to do an interview,” Alya stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth, texting like mad.  “I’ll get some good questions. Chat?”

He poked his head over the edge of the balcony, and blinked huge green eyes at her, his tail whipping around over his head.  “You sleep with a huge cat pillow.”

“...grab your tail when Mrs. Dupain-Chang comes back,” Alya grinned at him again, trying not to look too much like a carnivorous journalist.  “She’ll see it.”

He nodded, scrabbling away as the trapdoor popped open again to reveal, somehow, both of Marinette’s parents and about six trays of food.  

“Eugh,” Marinette rolled her eyes.  “You guys were going to watch the British Baking Show!  What were you _doing_ down there?!  Is the President visiting?”

“Some of these are several hours old,” Marinette’s dad sighed at Alya, poking a powdered-sugar covered confection with a dismissive finger.  Alya’s stomach growled.

“Go eat some of this and watch your show, guys, come on,” Marinette shoved at them.  “Stop _working.”_

“I don’t know what to do with my _hands_ if I’m not working, is that Mecha Strike?” her dad popped back up like a meerkat.

“No,” Marinette told him.  “Dad. No. You said tonight was for you and mom.  You said you were going to hold hands and make heart eyes.  MOM!”

“I can watch the finale _all alone,”_ her mom sighed loudly from below, and Papa Dupain-Chang’s eyes widened.  

“You are a wise daughter,” he told Marinette, and she nodded.  

“Yep!  Go sit _down,_ you two.  If somebody gets hurt I’ll come get you, so ignore Alya thudding around, she forgets my floor’s like a drum.”

“Sorry,” Alya put in, sliding an arm around Marinette.  “Thank you for all this beautiful food!”

“I didn’t make anything with the peanut butter your aunt brought from America yet,” he fretted, and Marinette put a hand on his head, leaning her weight on it to shove him back down.

“Have fun, kids!” Mama Dupain-Chang called, and the trap door clunked shut.  

“Give it a minute,” Marinette held a hand up to Chat, who already had a leg on the ladder, and he leapt into his hiding spot again.  Marinette crossed her legs, then her arms, frowning at the door.

Alya arrayed the platters on a blanket as Marinette’s dad popped up again, whispering.  

“Do you want some hot chocolate?”

Out of the corner of Alya’s eye, she saw Chat’s tail go stiff.  It reminded her of an exclamation point. “Mr. Dupain-Chang,” she asked, turning the full force of her own parent-will-bending charm on him with a sweet smile, and he nodded.  “If we say yes, we’d love hot chocolate, will you _promise_ that’s the very last thing and you’ll go enjoy it with your wife, and let Marinette and I have some uninterrupted girly gossip?”

He clattered down through the trapdoor, thumping around the stairs.

“What did you just do,” Marinette frowned down.  “He didn’t even argue.”

“He’s getting us _hot chocolate,”_ Chat hissed invisibly from above, and Marinette turned her frown on him.  

“That’s a bit creepy, actually.”

“Tail me--am I intruding on Girl’s Gossip Night?  Should I stay up here with my brethren?” He whispered back, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“It’s--”

“Should I flea home?” he folded his arms over the edge of the loft.  “I hate to be a com _pet_ itor for the fur _ry_ food.”  Marinette groaned, scrubbing her face, but Alya beamed up at him.  

“You _brought_ the gossip, my dear tailed friend.  I’m counting so many more puns to add to the--”

Impossibly fast, a timid knock came at the trapdoor again.  Chat was only half under Marinette’s bed when Alya lifted it, but she leaned to block the view, accepting two thermoses.  “Thank you _so much,_ Mr. Dupain-Chang!  Now go keep your wife company, because Marinette wants to try patterns on my bod, and I don’t want to wonder who’s going to suddenly pop in!”

“Oh!” he reddened, shaking his head.  “It will not be me! Coming, honey!”

Alya dropped the door again, smiling in triumph, and Marinette shook her head slowly.  

“That never _works_ when I do it.”

“Because I’m always behind you, nodding and miming about cookies,” Alya shrugged.  “But I think this might be enough food, even with your stray.”

“Can I come down now?” Chat whispered over the edge, ears perked.  “Only I think I feel a hairball coming on--”

 _“Quietly,”_ Marinette waved him down.  “I hope you’re _kitten around_ , but you know where the bathroom is, just don’t _jump._ He knows we weren’t up there, and they can hear a thud that loud.  I don’t want them charging up thinking you’re an akuma.”

Alya raised her eyebrows at the pun (Chat beamed) and they hiked further up her face at the familiarity as he climbed down delicately, tiptoeing over in rapid tiny steps.  

“There’s another cat on your desk,” he huffed.  “You’re cheating on me, Princess.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, yanking him down next to her.  She slid an arm around him, reaching out to grab the plate of berry tarts and plonk it in his lap.  He flushed.

“I...probably don’t need _all_ the tarts, don’t want to _puss_ my luck,” he accepted the mug she handed him, and held it up while she filled it.  

“What are you two _doing,”_ Alya finally asked.  “I guess you made up?”

“What?” Chat laughed, lowering his ears.  “Am I in trouble?”

 _“Alya,”_ Marinette stared at her, but Alya didn’t suddenly gain a telepathic link, and just shrugged back.

“My behaviour not up to scratch?”  Chat looked between them.

“I mean I guess the thing with Adrien wasn’t--”  Alya stopped at Marinette’s increasingly violent throat-cutting motions.

“Eat your tarts, Chat, it’s fine,” Marinette sighed--stroking his _hair,_ Alya noticed, her excitement at _questioning_ Chat Noir, Hero of Paris, taking back burner to her intense curiosity about the _relationship_ between Chat Noir, Hero of Paris, and her best friend, usually nervous around leggy blond boys, who apparently had a regular _nocturnal male visitor_ she _hugged._

Chat was chewing obediently, but he’d hunched his shoulders.  

“All right,” Alya glanced to make sure Chat was still staring intently into his platter of tarts, then pointed between he and Marinette and mouthed _“Later.”_

Marinette sighed, nodding.

“So, what I was thinking, Mr. Hero of Paris,” Alya laid it on thick, smiling as his ears perked back up and his grin went from nervous to smug.  “I’d love to get this on video--” she waved back Marinette’s concerned frown. _“--so_ if you could look over a list of questions and tell me what not to ask, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“She’s just gonna ask me about Ladybug, and I don’t know anything everyone else doesn’t know,” Chat slumped sideways against Marinette’s side, grinning.  

“Why--” Marinette’s spine straightened, but Alya cut her off.

 _“Actually,_ no.  Let’s see.  Lots of questions about your suit…” she frowned down at her notepad, and Chat extended his claws for it, pulling back to lean into Marinette’s shoulder.  Alya watched this, her head cocking as Marinette slid an arm around him like this was normal behaviour.

“I _cat_ egorically refuse to talk about where I came from, or where the suit came from,” Chat handed the list back, and Alya clicked her pen and crossed off ‘Are you new to crime-fighting, or did you do it somewhere else before here?’ and ‘Did you make your suit?’

“...did you want to play Mecha Strike,” Marinette cut in, “--or--”

“I’m ready,” Alya grinned, tapping at her phone.  

“Wait!”  Marinette leapt up, slamming through drawers, leaving Chat to smack his elbow into the ground just as Adrien had earlier.  “I don’t want all of Paris thinking _my bedroom_ is a good place to find superheroes!”

“Oh, good call, girl,” Alya lowered her phone.  

“Lemme hang a drop cloth.”  Marinette climbed onto the loveseat to thumbtack a sheet to the ceiling.  “There! Are you sure you don’t want to game a while, Chat? You’d have more time to think.”

“I can always edit, y’know,” Alya grinned at her, pulling Chat up by the paw and pushing him in front of the impromptu curtain.  “Marinette, hold the phone for me, it’s silly to have to keep turning it! We can both sit on the chaise.”

“Ummm,” Marinette held the phone with two fingers, leaning away like it was a bomb, and Alya groaned, rummaging in her bag.  “Here, a _tripod._ We’ll sit it…”

“Here!” Marinette stuck a stool under the small tripod, and threw a black blanket over the chaise.  Chat made grabby hands at his hot chocolate, and she handed that over too, and the tarts, giving him a thumbs-up.  

He flushed, ducking his head, and Alya filed that fact away for later, plonking herself at the end of the chaise with her legs folded to face him.  “Hullo Paris, this is the Ladyblog, and I’m here with one of the Heroes of Paris, Chat Noir!”

“Sorry, it’s the in _fur_ ior one, no Ladybug today,” he grinned, waving.

“Of course we’re honoured to have Chat Noir himself, don’t sell yourself short!” Alya beamed at the camera, and Marinette behind it, who was nodding, jaw set.  “First off, there are a lot of questions about your suit. How functional is it?”

“It’s im _paw_ sibly sturdy?” he stuck his arms out, inspecting them.  “I can fall off a building and land on cement and I’m not even _scratched_.  And,” he winked at the camera, “it’s _sexy.”_

Marinette snorted, he put his paws on his hips in offense, and Alya smacked his elbow to get his attention.  

“What about the ears, and the eyes, and the tail?  Does the bell do anything?”

“Oh!” he bounced onto his feet, turning to perch on the chaise instead of sitting.  “I have night vision! I saved Ladybug when she kept running into the same wall! It was _pawsome.”_

Marinette opened her mouth to interrupt _again,_ and Alya narrowed her eyes.  Marinette subsided, folding her arms.

“And the tail?”

“That’s a handle,” he sipped his hot chocolate, closing his eyes and sighing happily.  “For Ladybug.”

“A...handle?”

“The rest is just to look su _purr_ b,” he shrugged, tossing his head.  “But she uses that to yank me sometimes.  Out of traffic. Or an alligator.”

Marinette was mouthing something, and Alya finally got it.  ‘He’s _proud?!’_ Alya picked up a tart to cover her smirk.

“It...has been noted that it stands out.”

“That’s the other thing it’s useful for,” he leaned in, beaming.  “I draw fire! Akuma see this guy in a weird cat suit and they chase me, while Ladybug does something _smart,_ and _brave,_ and _purrrfect,_ and _impetuous--”_

Marinette was pretending to throw up, and Alya wondered whether Chat Noir’s friendship was part of her friend’s lack of enthusiasm for Ladybug.  As Alya opened her mouth, glancing down at her list, he waved. _“Fur_ thermore--”

Marinette clapped her hands over her ears, glaring over, and his smile widened.  

“--it’s im _paw_ tent that Ladybug and I be visible when people are scared.  They need to know we’re around, that we’re working on it,” he shrugged.  

Alya resisted the urge to hug him herself, suddenly feeling sympathy with Marinette’s need to pour tarts and hot chocolate into his goofy face.

“It’d be even better if it was reflective,” Chat continued, standing with one foot on the chaise to pose with his staff.  “And had LED lights. They’d never miss me, then!”

Marinette slowly shook her head, eyebrows raised.  

“Also if my staff had a little propeller,” he swooshed around in a few fencing poses.

“That...image brings me to the next question,” Alya took another bite of tart, and swallowed.  “Do you train? How many flips can you turn in one jump?”

He blinked.  “No idea. I probably shouldn’t try in here.”

Marinette jumped to her feet, dropped back into the chair, and spun, steepling her fingers.  

“Maybe,” Chat watched her, “--maybe we should do a video another time?  We could answer questions like that!”

“That would be _so awesome_ ,” Alya considered.  “We could ask Ladybug, that would be so fun!  All right, last big one--how much have you experimented with Cataclysm?”

“Oh,” he grimaced.  “I don’t want to purrpetrate any crimes with it--”

Alya smirked, flourishing her pen and making another large checkmark on her notepad.

He laughed, then sobered.  “It’s worked on everything I’ve tried.  I’ve never pussed my luck with it, I mean,” he glanced at Marinette as Alya checkmarked again.  “When...I have nightmares, it’s that I miss. Sometimes I hit the akuma victim. Sometimes it’s Ladybug, and with my power, I can’t fix it.  It kinda freaks meowt.”

Marinette had been listening, but muttered “Eugh,” at the pun, and he beamed at her.

“Just one more thing,” Alya grinned.  “I have a family and two little sisters in Paris.  On behalf of all of us,” she side-hugged him, watching him turn red again with satisfaction, “Thank you so, so much, Hero of Paris, Chat Noir.”

He flexed his free arm for the camera, laughing, and she cut him off in the midst of polite protestations.

“I’m going to go edit and post this,” Alya got up and wandered over to retrieve her bag.  “Nino has some sound equipment I can use to edit the _snorts_ out, _Marinette_ \--” she leaned to whisper in Marinette’s ear.  “--better decide which equipment you’re wanting, girl--” Marinette looked aghast.  “Keep an eye out for it tonight!”

 

Once Alya left, Chat climbed up and carefully took the sheet down.  

“...you have nightmares about killing Ladybug?” Marinette lifted a towel to reveal a massive pile of chocolate croissants.  

“Don’t tell her, she has enough to worry about,” Chat laughed.

“She said you listened to her about her weird thief dreams,” she held out the croissants, and he hesitated before dropping to sit next to her.  

“That’s different.”

“Chat.”

“I just have to be careful,” he shrugged, staring at the croissant in his hand.  “If I kill someone with Cataclysm, it’s my own fault.”

 _“Chat.”_ She messed his hair up, then smacked him lightly on the back of the head.  “We’re your friends.”

He nodded, but stayed silent, until she scooted over to lean against his side, and he snorted softly.  “...why does anyone still live in Paris.”

“I don’t know,” she agreed, fervent, and sighed.  “It seems like Paris is getting emptier. There’s hardly anyone on the streets.”

“I’m sorry we haven’t caught him yet,” Chat looked up from the croissant.  

“I’m sorry he hasn’t choked on something,” she bit her lips together, glancing at him, but he was giggling silently.  

“Oh no,” he whispered.  “We’d never know what happened.  He’d never attack again, but we’d never _know.”_

“...I guess that’s no good,” she sighed.  “I’ll stop wishing big gobs of stiff taffy on him, then.”

Chat snorted loudly, coughing, and she smacked his back.  They were mostly quiet after that, though they played a few rounds of the game, and Chat started to fall asleep with his head on her thigh before slowly staggering to his feet.  “Beeeeeed,” he groaned, arms out, and she hit him with a pillow.

After closing the trapdoor behind him, Tikki floated up, and Marinette clasped her hands together, doing her best to imitate Manon’s big-eyed pleas.

“D’you mind if I follow him a bit?  He might fall off a roof, and I need to talk to Adrien, too--I can’t text him from my _Marinette_ phone,” she fixed wide eyes on the kwami, who yawned.

“It’s been a big day, Marinette!  But...okay. Then right into bed!”

Marinette nodded, following Chat for a few streets--he seemed steady--before cutting across the roofs to Adrien’s, only to see Chat slide in the window.  “Oh _no,”_ she sighed, jumping to the sill to see a rumpled Adrien in his pajamas.

“Ladybug?!” he blinked at her, trotting up to the window.  

“Adrien,” she smiled, glancing behind him.  “...Chat came to wish you good night? Did he leave out the back?”

He blinked huge eyes at her, and she resisted the urge just grab him by the ears and shower kisses all over his eyelids.  “Y-yes?”

“Eugh,” she sighed, imagining the punny pickup lines she’d barely avoided.  “Well, he can come out--”

Adrien’s eyes widened further.  “He’s in the shower.”

She blinked back.  “...ah. I...just wanted to know if you could get me into the Agreste Gala.  Just--”

“The...Gala?” he took a deep breath, and she sat on the sill, waiting for his brain to engage.  His pajamas looked huggable.

“To investigate the thefts,” she prompted.  

“With me, to the Gala,” he repeated, smile widening.

“Is that all ri--”

He took her hands, nodding.  “Yes! Yes, I can--yes!”

“Okay,” she grinned back.  “It’s a date.”

Just then the shower came on, and Adrien jerked, his head smacking into her chin, and turned towards the bathroom.

“I mean, not a _date,_ obviously.  Unless you were going with Chat?”  She rubbed her chin, cocking her head to watch Adrien Agreste fumble his words.  He must have been _dead_ asleep, she thought, grinning.

“No!” he turned back, gripping her fingers fervently.  “No! I’m not going with _Chat--_ let’s go, yes, do you--do you want to come in?”

“It, ah,” she summoned up whatever heroism she had, more than it took, she felt, to fight akumas, and pulled back from Adrien Agreste.  “It sounds like you’ve got plans already. I’ll be in touch.”

He yelped as she let herself fall backwards, catching herself by yoyo and swinging away.

 

Plagg flew out of the bathroom.  “I covered for you. Repay my kindness with cheese.”

Adrien stared at him.  “I think she thinks...I think…”

“You’re stuck, need a little blunt force trauma?” Plagg offered.  

“...I think she thinks I’m Chat Noir’s booty call,” Adrien breathed, dropping to sit on the floor.

 


	7. Plagg is the Worst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akumas are irritating, and Marinette has to carry her cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you can really tell I generally outlined this chapter over a year ago--a couple things I bring up have already been resolved in the show. But I like it, so I'm posting it!

Chat sprawled next to her at the top of the Eiffel Tower.   _“This one_ was the most stupid,” he said with certainty, his wide eyes staring at the stars as his ring flashed.  

Ladybug groaned, face-down in the concrete.  “What is _wrong_ with this country...just let people talk...with words...the Academie Francaise still thinks I should say wassit... _un mobile multifonction_ instead of _smartphone,_ don’t they have lives to live...”

“That...was more stupid than the giant baby akuma…” Chat trailed off, rubbing his face, and she grunted in agreement.  “My friend _Nino--”_

She rolled enough to squint at him.  “...you know Nino? You don’t know Nino, you’re--”

“My _friend, Nino,”_ he huffed, trying not to giggle at her exhausted slurring.  “Bestest bestie friend. Nino.”

 _“My_ friend’s Nino,” she grumbled.  “You’re a _cat.”_

 _“My friend Nino,”_ he began again, curling up on his side to face her, _“Nino_ says teachers tell him to stop saying _cool._ Like Americans.  They want him to use _sympathique,_ it’s not…”

She snorted, nodding, and stuck out her tongue.  “Mneh. Bah! Too _tired_ for syllables.  Too many...syllables.  Down with...them.”

“I can’t believe…” he let his arm fall over his face, “Hawkmoth...really found somebody... _that angry_ about the word _hashtag_ \--”

“I’m not changing to _mot-dièse!”_ she flailed a fist in the air, then let her arm fall back over her face.  “‘Sharp words’? Iss stupid. Linguistic history can go...hang. Revolution!   _Vive la cool hashtag revolution!”_

 _“Is_ stupid,” Chat agreed, letting his eyes drift closed.  “Sooo dumb. What next.”

“They’ll make us change ‘Facebook’ to _‘Livre des facies,’”_ her snort was muffled by her arm.  “Stupid...grammar.  Akuma. _Grammar akumas,_ Chat, _why.”_

“They’ll come for our ‘t-shirts’,” he giggled.  “--call ‘em ‘short stretchy blouses that are extremely French and not at all American,’” he moaned over her cackles.  

She rolled onto her side, her giggles trailing off, and grinned over.  “...you’re going to time out, Châton,” she mumbled into her arm.

“You too, mil--” he paused, pouting, as a scream reverberated from below.  

Ladybug hove herself to her knees, trotting to the tier edge on all fours to stare down.  “I really hope someone just saw Jagged Stone.”

Chat leaned over the edge, chin resting against the metal.  “Maybe the Pope. He’s a pretty pope-ular guy.” Even from the top of the tower, it was plain people were running _from_ Marché Saxe-Breteuil, not towards, the clear area spreading rapidly between the still-half-assembled farmers’ market stalls.  

“Nooooooo,” Chat whispered, and Ladybug groaned, wiping her eyes.  He stuck the arm with his staff over the edge, letting it extend, then crawled to his feet with a sigh, sliding a knee around it to ride it down.

“See you in five,” Ladybug gave herself another thirty seconds to stare at the Big Dipper, thinking longingly of her abandoned bed. That done, she rolled off the beam, flipping herself around to land out of sight below, in order to quickly stuff some cookies in Tikki.  

“I’m glad you pack extra, Marinette,” Tikki smiled tiredly at her, and Marinette grimaced apologetically.

“I’m so sorry!  Chat’s poor kwami,” she rubbed her face.  “Ugh, gotta wake up...Chat’s already used his power _twice,_ I hope he has a bag of cookies too.”

Tikki sighed, chewing with chipmunk cheeks as more screams rose from below, before Paris abruptly went silent.  When Ladybug emerged, wary, but magically energized, the Eiffel Tower stood lit and alone in a void of darkness, surrounded by stars.  As she landed, her yoyo whirring back to her hand, her feet crunched. On either side dry leaves stirred--it felt like tall grass, she thought, pushing at it, then realized it was corn.  Feeling around, she realized it was trimmed into a hallway of sorts, with walls slightly higher than her flailing arms. Her first thought, clambering onto the “wall”, was a no-go--the corn crumpled, dumping her back on the path.  She could go forward, away from the Eiffel Tower, or towards it. She saluted the Tower, rising barely lit in the dark sea of Paris, then turned, and began her trek.

 

“I am starving to death,” Plagg groaned.  “Thousands of years of history end today, because you’re stingy about cheese in your pockets.”

“Oh, hush.  If you hadn’t eaten two entire rounds of Camembert, it wouldn’t be a prob--did you hear that?”

“I’ll be dead _of starvation_ before it arrives,” Plagg moaned loudly at the approach of the akuma, but after a long moment of listening, Adrien relaxed.

“At least it’s dark, she won’t recognize me,” he whispered.  

“In your _cat pajamas,”_ Plagg muttered.

“Why _doesn’t_ she recognize me?  Plagg,” Adrien turned to squint through the darkness toward the kwami’s voice.  “...do we...do I just _happen_ to look like Chat Noir?  Does Ladybug not notice because she...looks different?  I mean, the picture in the book, she looked basically the same, with her hair back...”

Plagg’s fidgeting on Adrien’s shoulder stilled.  After a long silence, Plagg cleared his throat. “I’m _sure_ I can tell you since you’ve already figured it out.  Ladybug is _actually_ a professional _heavyweight wrestler_ named Gérard Ethifier.  Why do you think she can create so much leverage with that yoyo?  You can’t tell, what with me enhancing your strength, but she’s a compact 109 kilograms.  Like Arnold Schwarzenegger. She has biceps like melons and neck muscles like a suspension bridge.”

“Oh no,” Adrien took a deep breath, leaning his face in his arms.  “Why didn’t you say anything? I thought Ladybug was _my age,_ I’ve been _flirting--_ how old is she?!  He?!”

“Gérard retired from tournaments in 1999, when his knees gave out--” Plagg’s voice twirled in front of him.  

 _“Retired with bad knees,”_ Adrien wheezed, moaning into his hands.

“Of course our magic handles _that,”_ Plagg scoffed.  “You never wondered where ‘Ladybug’ got so much fighting experience?  She’s a _champion._  It’s been so hard _keeping_ it from you, but my _extremely difficult position_ as a _responsible kwami_ \--”

“Oh, no, of course,” Adrien leaned his head against the wall, rubbing his burning eyes.  “I understand. Oh _no_ , is it weird calling him _‘she’,_ I have to ask--” he clicked his phone over to the lowest light setting, searching the name.  “Oh, sh- _he’s_ in the news--”

“Now _you,_ you just looked so much like Chat Noir, it was hilarious, that’s why I picked _you_ out--”

 _“What_ is going on here?” Ladybug’s voice cut through over Adrien’s horrified squawk.  “Chat? Why are you yelling?”

 

In the darkness, all Marinette could sense was her yowling cat, his voice oddly low to the ground, and a much raspier voice--“Chat, are you detransformed?  Am I--am I meeting your kwami?  Hello?” She grasped the wall of the maze she’d been following more tightly.

“We’re out of _cheese_ and I have been flirting with you this _whole time,”_ Chat moaned, off track as usual.

“We should pay attention to the akuma and talk about absolutely nothing else,” the other voice said quickly, a sentiment that sounded annoyingly but reassuringly familiar.

“It’s alright, Châton,” she crouched down near his voice.  “Are you out of cookies? I have some extra--”

“Cookies are garbage,” the kwami talked over her.  “You’ll just have to protect him with your mighty fighting skills, gained through extended combat experience and training.”

“...alright, Chat’s kwami, do you have a name, or am I calling you ‘Garbage Cookies’?”

Chat was emitting a soft whine, and she automatically let go of the wall and patted the air to find him.  “Châton?”

“His name’s Plagg, because he is one.  I’m sure your cookies are delicious. Do you bake cookies?  With...with your _family?”_  

“Are you hurt, Chat?” His distraction was alarming.  “You aren’t making a lot of sense,” she found his head with one waving hand, biting her lips in amusement at the feel of a fuzzy hood with sewn-in cat ears.  

“No, no, I’m fine,” his fabric ears brushed her hair as he scrambled to his feet, panting.  “I can keep up.” She could hear the corn crunch as he grabbed at the maze walls, stood, and fell back against them.  

“You’re probably exhausted,” she decided, squinting at him blindly.  

“No, I can help,” he said quickly.  His padded mitten-paw hit her shoulder, and he yanked back with a yelp, scrabbling loudly at the corn.  

She scooped him up, sighing as he tucked his hot face against her neck.  She hugged him to her, one arm around his thin back, one under his legs. “You are ridiculous.  Is--is there a _tail_ on your--is that a _onesie?_ If you’re that tired, or--Plagg, is he hurt?”

“Probably not?” Plagg’s voice sounded doubtful.  “His screws are a little loose in general, honestly.”

“I’m not hurt!”  Chat’s face was even hotter.  “I’m sorry I’m not helpful! I’m sorry I was flirting with you!  Oh my god, are you _married?”_

“What?”  Marinette went still.  “What are you--”

“We should not be discussing identities!  Paris is in danger!” Plagg put in, landing in front of her on Chat, from the sounds of things.  

“That’s true,” she considered the chances of running directly into the akuma with a vulnerable human Chat clutched to her chest like a rescued princess.  “Probably I should piggyback you, Châton.”

“I’ll just slow you down, Milady,” he laughed softly, then stiffened.  “No, wait, what should I call you? Mi-Milord?”

“Whoops, I think I see Mothra!” Plagg shouted.  “I can’t tell, because it’s dark! We should go look!”

“You two are even more bizarre separated,” Marinette kept stalking along, letting her thumb stroke the velvety plush at his shoulderblade.  “What on earth are you wearing, Chat, it’s so...cuddly.”

He squeaked, hugging her more tightly around the neck.  “It’s a Chat Noir-themed onesie...do not tell _anyone,_ my liege, my dignity would never--”

His voice cut off as she rubbed her chin investigatively over the ears.  “It’s nice! Does it just zip up?”

“Yeah, he is practically naked under there,” Plagg put in, oozing smugness, and Chat yowled.

“I am _not,_ everyone’s naked _under clothes,_ Plagg, that’s what clothes _do--”_

Marinette felt her face heat, but kept walking.  He fit warm against her, slim body secure in her magically reinforced arms, and after listening to him fall she was tempted to just hold him swaddled in his ridiculous pajamas.  She squeezed him tighter.

“...Ladybug?” he whispered against her neck, giggling.  

“I’m so tired,” she groaned, leaning her head against his.  “And you’re warm and soft, Chat, it’s unfair.”

“You’re both nauseating,” Plagg thumped into the side of her head.  

“It is hard to keep paws off me, I understand,” Chat said in lofty tones, but she could feel his face heating.

“I did see you climbing in Adrien Agreste’s window like a _tomcat,”_ she raspberried against his head, and he gasped.  

“I!  I did--I would--I am his _cousin,_ Spotted Beetle of my heart--oh god, I’m doing it again--” he groaned, but Marinette felt like she'd bitten a lime.  

“Your...cousin.”

“He is my cousin, yes,” he squirmed against her, one fuzzy leg escaping her grasp, and she tightened her grip so as not to drop him.  “My _cousin,_ who I visit, not my--not my--we don’t--” he trailed off amidst Plagg’s gales of laughter.

“She’s confused by your sexy onesie,” he snorted.  

“It’s very cozy,” Chat sounded strangled.  “Adrien’s a _fan._ And my _cousin,_ I wouldn’t--”

“Funny,” Marinette tried, eyes narrowed, “Marinette’s _my_ cousin!  That’s a lot of cousins!”  _Why is he lying to me, Tikki,_ she demanded, stomping along with impatience to get home and yell at the ceiling, and almost smacking them into a dead end.

“...that is a coincidence,” he mumbled into her neck, as she reversed course.  

“It _is_ odd, isn’t it?” She sighed, pressing her lips against his hood, and clenching him tighter as she kicked a leg out to determine the clear path.  “You...you know my opinion of you isn’t going to change, right, tomcat?”

“Not a tomcat,” he muttered, growling, and she snorted.

“Even if you _think_ there’s something about you I wouldn’t accept--”

“Oh god, I almost forgot, I wondered why you didn’t recognize me, and Plagg--I know he isn’t--but he told me who you are, my _\--Ladybug,_ and I didn’t _know,_ I mean, that’s what you wanted, not that it’s _wrong?_ May I watch your matches sometime?  Are they on Youtube?” he trailed off, mumbling into her shoulder.

Marinette stopped, head tilted, as he verbally scrambled, and Plagg shouted about imminent death from the akuma they hadn’t heard a peep out of since she’d jumped down.  “What are you even talking about,” her heart started to slow from the frantic pace it had set at the words ‘he told me who you are’. “He told you my _secret identity,_ ” Plagg’s voice petered off with a bit of throat-clearing, “and you ask whether I’m _married_ and want to call me _Milord?”_  

“Congratulations on your Stampede International Heavyweight Championship win,” Chat’s voice probably said into her shoulder.  It was muffled.

“I think Plagg may have been...mistaken,” Marinette glared around in the darkness.

“Oh _my,_ was I?  Oh goodness _gracious,”_ Plagg said in an odd falsetto.  “How terrible, we should definitely split up and resolve this at a later--”

“I think Plagg is _lying_ to you,” she raised her eyebrows.  

Chat groaned.  “He _did_ tell me he killed all the dinosaurs like a deadly stealth ninja, by luring them to the edges of cliffs and pushing them--”

“Why would he even--”

Plagg cleared his throat.  “We have very important akuma fighting to do--”

“But why would they all have been standing by cliffs?  How many years would you have had to lie in wait by cliffs, _Plagg,”_ Chat scoffed.

“I had a dinosaur whistle,” Plagg shot back.  “It played the mating call of a--”

“Our kwamis are very different,” Marinette breathed into Chat’s hood and hair.

“We agreed we don’t hear each other when we’re talking to the mirror,” Plagg wailed.  “You didn’t hear any of this!”

Marinette snorted against Chat’s hoodie ear, easily able to imagine he and Plagg taking turns bragging and flexing.   

“I just decided one day, those T-Rexes are going down,” Plagg said airily.

Chat huffed.  “And this explains what looked like an asteroid strike?  Killing dinosaurs _one by one._  Even magically, you can’t be everywhere at once, or I wouldn’t be late for classes.  You aren’t _Santa.”_

“It was a very long time ago, my memories are unclear!” Plagg protested.

“Wait, has a Miraculous user ever been Santa?” Chat lifted his head.

“Yes!”  Plagg floated up to yell in Marinette’s ear.  “That is exactly where that tradition came from, that is what happened, definitely, yes,” He sounded triumphant.  “But only if you do everything I--”

“...Plagg,” Marinette let her impatience affect her tone, and he stopped talking abruptly.  

“You should probably just leave me--” Chat’s voice began in her ear.

“Chat.  Climb on my back--” he swallowed as she lowered his feet to the ground.  “I’m not leaving you for the akuma to find,” She paused as he leaned into her back, hesitantly sliding his arms around her neck, then rolled her eyes and leaned forward to lift his feet off the ground.  He yelped, wrapping his legs around her waist. “I look similar to Ladybug in my civilian form. _Tikki,_ my kwami, who does not _lie_ all the time--”  

“I do not lie _all_ the time--”

 _“--Tikki_ says there’s magic in the equipment and kwamis.  She calls it an ambient force, preventing us from recognizing each other unless we _tell each other_ our true identities.  The more I’m around someone, the stronger the magic is, so you, my family, and my close friends are the _least_ likely to figure it out.  Some stranger could see it, but all they’d think is ‘That girl looks like Ladybug.’”

“You look like yourself, _as a civilian,”_ Chat muttered into her shoulder as she began walking.  “Plagg, I’m buying you _American cheese.”_ Plagg let out a betrayed gasp, before his grumbling got muffled.  

“What on earth did he tell you?” Ladybug finally asked, in a rush.  “ _Married?”_

“It’s all right,” she could hear Chat’s grin as his laugh huffed warm against her neck.  “Revenge will be savory, and good on crackers.”

“No,” Plagg moaned.  

“It’s funny, actually, speaking of cheese, Gabriel Agreste must have _no_ sense of smell,” she hefted her cat further up her back, feeling him kick his feet in alarm.  

“...what?” he whispered.

“That ‘Adrien: The Fragrance’.  I mean, you’d think somebody would have told him it smelled kinda like cheese.  Or feet. Doesn’t he notice?”

“...he...hasn’t noticed,” Chat swallowed, sounding a little strangled.

“I thought maybe it was just you, maybe you don’t shower--” Chat squawked in incoherent protest, “--but it’s Adrien too!  I’ve gotten a good..long…sm--” she cleared her throat. “Ahem. I _noticed,_ while _rescuing_ him, that it smells weird on him too.  He’s probably just too loyal to say anything.”

“My cologne smells like cheese,” Chat whispered, trying to disentangle himself, and she grabbed his flailing arm.  

“Also a bit like feet?”

“Ladybug thinks I smell like feet,” he groaned into her back.

“Or, like, a fungal infection?”

He wailed, pushing away from her back, and she smushed him back against the corn wall to hold him in place as he let his arms hang.

“Come on, Whiskers,” she snickered.

“Let me die,” he let himself slide sideways, and she had to bounce her knees to toss him back up on her back.  “Leave me here, covered in fungus.”

“You’ll be such a cute mushroom,” she leaned forward to let gravity hold him in place, pulling his arms back around her shoulders.  

He groaned.  “I don’t even know the language of mushrooms.  I’d be so lonely, Milady.”

“This, right here,” Plagg popped up.  “This is what I have to deal with. In a minute he’ll start singing a song.”

“Badger badger mushroom mushroom,” Chat warbled, directly in Marinette’s ear, and she bounced him again.  He yelped.

“There’s an akuma, Chat.  Focus.”

“Sorry,” he buried his face in her shoulder.

“It’s fine.”

He groaned, softly, but held it so long she started giggling.

“...you’re not punning,” she waved into empty space in the darkness, and turned to pat down the walls for a path.

“Oh,” he sounded startled.  “I...guess I...keep forgetting I’m Chat Noir.  I don’t feel like Chat Noir. He doesn’t usually have to get carried,” he trailed off, muttering into her shoulder.  “He’s usually _helping,_ instead of just slowing you down--”

“Don’t talk badly about my partner,” she kept her tone crisp, but rubbed her head against his.  “He’s doing great.”

“He hasn’t even got any puns,” he sighed.  “This maze is corny.”

“...weak, kitty, you might need bed rest for that one.”

“I’m sorry I’m--I don’t--”

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you.  Even if you do stink,” she nodded, harrumphing, and he snickered.  “But actually, Kitty, about that, maybe talk to Adrien. He should…”

“...he should what,” Chat buried his face against the back of her head, and she reached up to ruffle his bangs.  

“He needs to be more confident.  He can tell people what he really thinks and wants occasionally, it’s okay.  He can tell his dad his fragrance smells like foot fungus.”

“I’ll,” Chat’s voice had gone oddly husky.  “I’ll let him know.”  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was getting long, so I didn't include the akuma...maybe I will? I have some funny ideas...thanks so much for reading!
> 
> I tumble! Check me out, I'm platypan, and I've been posting prompts! I'm also on Pillowfort as the easier-to-remember peterqpan!
> 
> If you comment I will be effervescent with joy!


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